#( it's not your fault trauma made you unable to express yourself )

[sunyandmony]

Just gonna post it cuz yeah... Idk what to do with it...

Word count- 3,379

Subject/plot/idea- Moon comfort fic

Characters- Moon, You/Reader

Inspiration/if any- none

Warnings- self-harm thoughts, death wish, abuse(?), neglect, self-hate

🌹🌺🌷🌸💐 (<--- to the people reading this)

Part 1/?

It may have been an hour, maybe more, but you didn't care anymore.

Your face was burning and covered in tears, your heart was racing and you were sitting in the worst spot possible to have this breakdown; in one of the party rooms in the daycare.

Quiet whimpers and gasps escaped you, unable to hold them back.

The Pizzaplex had closed down hours ago, and everything that made you be here was gone, so why did you feel like this?!

It's unfair that you're the target of everything.

That your life is the way it is and that it's all your fault in the end…

You had hidden in here, and no one noticed.

“Of course they wouldn't… Nobody does, they probably don't even care at all, never did...”

Everything was too hard to understand, and everyone was acting inhumane and awful as if you're the monster.

You didn't even know what to say or believe anymore, you hated yourself so much you wanted to just die already.

You weren't the only child, and your sibling always had the attention.

It was so stupid, and at this point, you couldn't even care anymore.

All your senses activated the moment you ran into this room, crawled under this table, and started sobbing your frustration, trauma, and helplessness to the empty room.

You immediately started sobbing harder as the thoughts started getting more constant and worse.

Death is literally your only option at this point, there's nothing else…

“Stupid, stupid, stupid…”

You muttered under your breath, curling even more into yourself.

It's not fair. Humans are the worst.

Why you of all people??

What had you done to deserve everything…?

It's so stupid, everything is stupid, everything is awful and so shitty.

Always having to be “happy” and pleasing to everyone that sees you, always having to dress how other people want, but not you.

Always being the silent kid and the black sheep of the family…

Everything was so good when you were still a toddler, where did those happy moments go??

…What's wrong with you?

Why can't you just be happy…?

The sobs got louder and louder the more your thoughts ate you alive, you were so done of everything, you just wanted to die, all alone like you deserve, with no one to hold you near…

He thought he was mistaken.

He thought he was hearing things, who would be here so late?

Maybe an intruder, but the sounds were all too familiar.

He detached himself from his acrobatic wire, creeping closer to the party room and listened closely.

Sun was right, there's someone inside.

The door opened once he stepped in front of it, and he entered inside to search, scanning the space for a short few seconds…

Of all people, he didn't expect you.

He thought your parents had picked you up when you left the daycare and told Sun you'd be fine.

You clearly aren't.

He sighed audibly, before crouching down and raising up the tablecloth, finding you curled up in a ball and crying to yourself.

His expression immediately softened, and his security mode turned off as his eyes shifted from red to a beautiful dark void, with the littlest of stars inside.

In one moment you heard the opening of a door, but you couldn't care enough to look up to see who came inside the room, unable to control your sobs and thoughts from pouring out.

But then, in a moment, something, or rather someone, pulled the tablecloth up.

You shook in place, backing off only to see Moon crouched there, looking at you with a…confusing expression for your brain to even process.

He put his hands up, and backed away from you ever so slightly, showing he's not a threat or here to break your boundaries.

“Starlight..?.... May I approach?”

He asked you in his familiar, raspy voice.

You had nothing to lose at this point, so you gave a small and quick nod.

“.. Wanna talk about it, perhaps?...”

It hurt to even hear that question.

No one ever asked you anything about your mood or your health or anything of the like, but it's not like you had anything to add to the empty void of your body.

You shook your head, and even then, he was smiling at you.

The first genuine smile of someone who truly cares for you, a smile that's not forced or a facade…

Possibly one you'll remember for the rest of your pathetic existence.

…That is if you even get to live further than tonight.

With your luck, mental health, and everything else added onto your very being, you doubt it.

Even so, he is the single thing that's keeping you grounded right now, and you'd rather remain on earth for now.

He hummed, accepting your choice as is, willing to wait as long as necessary for you to open up to him even the littlest bit.

He didn't mind if you didn't at all either, he just wanted to be there with you.

And you did as well, only common for a human to want contact and interaction with others.

It's natural, and after a while of hanging out with someone, it's painful to let go of them so easily.

And he of all people understood you the most out of everyone.

“Touch… ?”

He asked in the silence, waiting patiently for you.

He was being too kind to a monster like you, but you couldn't deny you wanted to feel his touch, his tender yet cold at the same time touch…

So you gave another small nod, granting him permission and he engulfed you into a hug, ever so careful and even more softer than usual, as if you're made of porcelain that could be broken at any time with the slightest of touches, but even so, his touch was constant and very much there, making you aware of your surroundings once more, even if just the slightest bit.

You couldn't deny it anymore, you would die for this dude.

The moment that crossed your mind, you hugged him back, your nails digging into his back. He let out a relaxed humm, and you didn't even notice when he somehow got up from under the table with you in his hold, as close to him as possible.

His chest pressed right against your face, cooling off your burning face.

You held onto him like a lifeline, eyes shut tight and breathing hitching before you realized you didn't have to, he wasn't even off the ground, he was walking with you, all the way back to the daycare, on foot.

He knew you wouldn't like him flying midair with you in his hold, and he didn't say a thing about it, a silent understanding in his eyes as he walked inside the daycare with you.

Once in the nap time corner, he set you down in a huge, comfy blanket nest as he sat down next to you on it, his legs hanging on the ground.

He opened his arms, inviting you closer to him.

You didn't even hesitate, immediately laying face first onto his chest as he wrapped his arms around you, keeping you close.

He wasn't forcing you to say anything, he wasn't asking you anything, he stood in the silence and darkness of the closing hours, with you, ignoring his job just to care for you.

You felt selfish and likely that you're an attention seeker just because you're the reason he's not on his patrols…

But when he started rubbing soft, small circles in your back, you immediately blanked out.

You could hear his internal fans from where you lay.

Sure he was about two times your size for some reason, but you couldn't help but feel safe for once.

Not like an animal backed into a corner fighting for survival, like a normal being that's cared for, and at that point, you cracked, crying out onto him as he soothed you, whispering soft promises and truths to you all the while.

He didn't stop you from crying, he soothed your pain and waited for you to empty out your soul, he felt special for even seeing you like this, felt like he's doing something right.

“It will all be alright… It’s gonna be okay…”

After what felt like hours, everything went silent, and the buzzing and screeching in your head had been muffled out, the only sounds being your evened-out breathing and the internal fans keeping Moon cool to the touch, making you lay your head on the side and stare into the distant and empty daycare, your head empty of thoughts and clouded over.

His soothing touch, unlike anything else you've gotten so far in your life, was helping you.

Someone was helping you, not because they had to or are forced to, but because they're willing to waste their time on you.

You were dry already, but if you could cry more, you definitely would be right about now.

“...You're safe now… I'm here…”

He murmured, his hands trailing up and down your back and sides, massaging your nerves and setting you on the edge of your seat.

He wasn't being rough, he wasn't punishing you like he did to the naughty kids, he was treating you like he would an infant, with care, kindness, and took his time to discover you layer by layer, no matter how long it took him to do so.

Truly, a real explorer.

He didn't force anything onto you for that matter, which made you more and more self-aware.

Not that it mattered too much, he would treat you the same no matter what or who you looked like.

Because he'd like you as you are no matter what, and that alone is a fact.

He didn't care what anyone said or did to show you're bad or disgusting or weird, he thought you're beautiful and a person in your own way.

A long while passes and it feels like forever before he asks the bigger questions that you dreaded to answer.

The ones that made you wrong and different than everyone else.

“.. Are you ready to talk about it… ?”

His voice was just as low as before, barely above a whisper.

He was trying to figure it out for you, but it was hard to open up so easily to him.

He isn't human, he isn't a dead person, and he isn't a ghost.

He's just an animatronic working under a crappy, old, and greedy company that owned his very existence unlike you, a human, who had all the free will possible and could just choose to leave everyone behind.

He couldn't do that.

He was forced to be here whether he liked it or not.

A lot of emotions dropped over you more suddenly than you'd wanted them to, and as he sat and leaned against the wall with you in his lap, you looked up to finally meet his gaze properly.

He wasn't looking at you expectantly, not sadly, and not guilty or forced.

An unknown emotion you'll never understand.

He took your silence as a sign to wait, not wanting to disturb your thoughts and before he knew it, you started talking.

To him.

To Moon, the one that always scares everyone, the one that's always hated by the staff.

And he internally promised himself to be here and listen through everything.

“It's just… everything is so hard, everyone is so crappy, everything is shitty. Always to me… I can't take this anymore. I've had enough of all the crap that was said and done to me..”

Sure, he isn’t a therapist, but for you, he will pretend to be one.

He shushed you, in a manner that didn't actually force you to quiet down unless you had something to add on.

And you didn't, so he looked at you and spoke in his quiet voice.

“Well… I'm sure it's not your fault, Starbeam… You're just in the wrong place, With the wrong people… You might think about what you do but… I doubt you're weak, by all means… you're very strong in a lot of ways…”

He chimes in, awaiting your procession of his words and response ever so patiently.

“Just… Why me?... If I'm not supposed to be there… then why was I even born?...”

Another thought poured out from your head as you leaned your back against his chest, being met with the same cold feeling you expected and liked so dearly by now- a comfort to your blurred out brain.

Perhaps a soothing presence…

“...It has never been your fault. Your presence wasn't meant to be acknowledged by them… Not by the right people. Your presence now, though, has been acknowledged by many… in the right way.”

He spoke to you through it all.

“You are meant for… Much greater things.“

Were you truly…?

It was hard to believe it after everything you went through.

But you had no doubt no more around him, his very presence brought you safety that you really wished would last longer…

But as with everything else, nothing does.

“It's just… I can't shut out my thoughts… Everything is so… Loud… annoying…? But alas, I just dread to go on because I don't know what's gonna happen. But I know it'll be bad, as it always is…”

Your voice trailed off, weak and pained.

You hoped you didn't sound weak to him, you had to be strong for at least once in your life.

“I understand what you mean, Starlight… It's not always easy to fall asleep and expect a brighter day… It's not as easy as that in our complicated world…”

He reaffirms, sighing out loud.

“...It's scary to think one day there will be nothing for you to do… About everything for the matter… but that's why I will be here for you… to give you the reassurance and belief that you are right where you belong now…”

He added softly, his hands going through your hair absentmindedly.

“...But I just… Don't feel like I belong. I never did, it's all a lie! If they didn't want me, why did they keep me?! Why?!”

Your anger wasn't aimed at him, but even so, he felt helpless for a moment, and shook it off the next, knowing that you're strong and will indeed go through this and come back stronger than ever before.

“That's because they're bad people… Not deserving of you. Ones that don't understand you. Don't even try to. But I for sure know you're stronger than you let off, stronger than you believe you are. You're holding back the personality that makes you who you are and who you wanna be.”

His words felt like rocks on your back slowly shattering. Maybe he's right…?

“You can let go of the mask, Starlight. You can be yourself with us, because we want to understand and love you for who you truly are. You don't have to please everyone just because they're close to you.“

He gave out his whole word, his hands freezing on your shoulders momentarily.

“But is that really it…? That can't just… That's not as easy as it looks like…! They're the ones that helped me, that brought me into this world… I just… I…”

Every other thing you had to say was stuck in your throat, the poison in your veins clearing out and draining out your excuses to believe your own lies.

“I know that, but it doesn't mean they get to control you, no matter the case. One may save you, but may just as easily backstab you. Even if it's someone as close as that… It's the harsh truth, you don't owe your relatives anything just because they're there.”

He gave it his everything, his head leaned down on top of yours in an inhumane, uncomfortable for most (but not him) position, no weight felt whatsoever when he did so.

If he really meant everything he said so far…

Then it means you're the one that's been feeding yourself poison, firing the need to believe your own lies of the people you thought you loved.

That they loved you back…

Truth is, they never did, and it hit you harder than the poison dripping out of your veins.

You believed your own lies for so long that being hit in the face with what truly is the truth, felt like your own life as a whole was a lie.

It might as well have been at this point.

There was so much to understand for him, but he'll wait for you, for an eternity if he had to.

He will be patient with you, he will love you as much as his limited existence lets him, and above all he'll be there for you by will at both your best and your lowest.

No matter what's happening.

“It hurts that everyone I know has been a lie all along. It hurts that people I know turn their back to me and act like we are strangers. Don't even acknowledge my existence or need of help… They only turn to me when they need help, talk to me only when they're forced or only when they need their stupid FaVoRs”

Your voice held everything against the very people who once loved you and talked to you like you truly existed and mattered at least one bit.

After breaking out of the cage and experiencing your first freedom tonight, you felt like you're turning the world upside down and for once truly addressing the underlying many, many issues you had gathered over the short time span of a life you've had so far.

“Those people are just helpless, unlike you. You're the stronger one, alas they choose to speak to you… They're leeches feeding on you, you have to let go. It won't be easy, but you have to…. They're going to feed off of you unless you do something about it. And I know you can, I know you're able to stand your ground and say ‘no’ for yourself, because I myself have grown that way. To always say ‘yes’, to always be the puppet they wanted me to be... And once I said no, it felt so good. Because I finally broke free, and Sun joined me not long after, because we've had enough. And you likely have too… It's time to let go, Starlight. I'm gonna hold your hand, but you have to say what you need to yourself… Say what you have to say to free yourself from the people that depend on you too much.”

Unlike him, you didn't have the confidence he had.

Even if the simplest of words slipped your mouth, you'd just want to poison yourself more.

Because it didn't feel right. It never did.

“...I know but… I don't wanna disappoint them… They needed my help when they had issues... And still do… Is it really the right thing…?”

There go your doubts once more.

He sighed, as patient and believing in you as ever.

You didn't deserve any of the patience or kindness you're getting, though…

“You don't have to please everyone… Be yourself and throw away everyone you don't need, throw away the people that cause you pain. Don't feel selfish nor bad about it, because you have the right to do it. It's the right thing to do. You need ‘you-time’ as well, not to always be doing someone's work…”

You were either sweating or you somehow were crying again, but you couldn't care much.

You always had the ugliest sobs anyone couldn't possibly even muster.

And that's when he snapped, hugging you close against him.

“We love you as you are, Starlight. You're enough as you are. You don't have to be pleasing to the eye or to people to accomplish your goals, you can be yourself. Be selfish and take care of yourself. If not for your own being, at least for us… Please…”

He had said before you felt yourself pass out cold.

For what reason, you had no idea, but sleep felt nice as of now, so you didn't push against the feeling away this time, because you know…

You are safe.

[theeternalwombtarot]

Gen x and millennials, gen z isn’t making fun of you or bullying you the way you think they are because gen z doesn’t actually care about what outward self expression means or looks like to you. Gen z is criticizing you for your lack of accountability and continuous bad behavioral patterns and choices. Gen z knows what it looks like to heal and see healing happened the same way we know what it looks to see bad choices and bad behaviors continue to ruin everything for everyone including the person exuding them.

Gen x your children dislike you and don’t want to speak to you because you choose not to see the fault in your actions, you choose not to take accountability for your short comings, you completely invalidate your children and carry with you an inflated sense of self importance and entitlement, you lack self awareness, you don’t know how to apologize, you can’t fathom the concept of making room for people where people rightfully deserve to stand. You whole heartedly believe the entire world revolves around you and if you don’t feel you’re being compensated for your hardship that everyone else deserves to receive your internalized resentment and nobody else is allowed to have issues or have opinions, lifestyles, belief systems, or morals that conflict your own. You’ve ruined your children. You’ve caused generations of continued abuse, conflict and unconventional dynamics and behavior. You’re constantly criticizing your children and antagonizing them instead of supporting them and honoring them. You victimize yourself constantly. You continuously complain about the things you had to experience growing up and the social climate you grew up in whilst you sit around and project all your trauma and anxiety and anger onto your children.

Millennials, your children can’t read and those who fall into gen z (including some of your younger siblings) are quite literally watching you become a mirrored image of your parents, are watching you complain about what it was like to grow up and not get your needs met and make the same choices that your parents made and/or have children of your own and fuck them up just like your parents fucked you up because for some reason you continue to carry with you your trauma and the consequences of what happens to someone with unmet needs on such a large scale. You won’t heal and when you’re asked to heal you become upset, defensive. You carry with you the same notion your parents squashed you with that says that because you’re younger or because you haven’t experienced life the way they have that you’re unable to make decisions, that your opinion, and your needs don’t matter and you project it onto Gen z and Gen alpha. You can’t fathom that your children deserve your time and that you can’t get rid of them or make them less of an “inconvenience” to you by giving them tablets and cell phones. You can’t fathom that you’re not a genuine parent but that you’re just merely someone’s biological mother or father. Your children have behavioral issues, they bite peoples ankles, they can’t read, and they have extremely delayed social skills because you don’t spend enough time with them, you don’t parent them or nurture them bc you just yell at them for being children or needing a parent like your parents yelled at you. When you’re told your children need help and need you to be a parent you become angry, you ignore criticisms or you go on tangents about how parenting is hard and how nobody understands or cares about you and your needs or what hurts your feelings as a fully fledged and functioning adult who is responsible for yourself. You have substance abuse issues and some of you are alcoholics. Vast majority of you are walking around with undiagnosed mental illnesses and/or anxiety disorders just like your parents and making everyone around you have a hard time.

[multiplicity-positivity]

hey i hope this isn't weirdbut i hate our host and i want to. not. do that

i feel like he took my chance of life away from me, of being normal, of having a nice life with my brothers (<- introject) and it's really hard to get along. i don't know what to do. im so frustrated i could cry

Our response got quite long, so it’s going under a cut to spare others from having to scroll a bunch - hope that’s okay!

Hi! This is definitely not weird to ask. We have some members in our system who are in a very similar situation! They’re still working through this and trying to process their feelings, but we can share what we’ve learned from our therapist and other systems and through communicating with each other!

(Note: We come from a DID perspective. Most of our advice we’ve learned through treatment and from fellow DID/OSDD systems. We’re not sure what kind of system y’all are, but this advice may be more applicable for traumagenic systems than nontraumagenic ones. We’ll try to include a few notes on what may help a system without trauma, but that’s not our experience! So sorry!)

Okay so for systems with dissociative disorders, it’s important for all parts/alters/headmates to remember that there is no “original,” no “core,” and no “main headmate.” The host is a system member just like everyone else. In many systems, a host cannot help that they front the most and it is usually outside of their control.

If your system has roles, it may be good to remember that each of you was formed with a purpose that was assigned by your brain. It’s not your host’s fault that they were chosen or formed to be the host.

We’ll also remind y’all about the nature of dissociative disorders. They function by hiding trauma and signs of the disorder from the headmates who front every day and handle daily functioning. So your host may have gone most of their life without ever knowing the rest of your system existed! And it’s not fair to hold something against your host that they were never aware of until y’all’s syscovery.

Additionally, many systems are unable to control switches, at least not at first. So even if your host was aware of y’all, it’s asking a lot to expect them to instantly know how to switch out and manage time so that all headmates who want to front are able to. We’ve heard of systems that are able to control switches, but we haven’t met one personally! So your host likely isn’t actually taking away your chance at life. Until y’all have made progress in building trust and communication, it may be challenging for anyone in your system to control a switch, let alone the host!

It’s great that you recognize your dislike for the host and want to change! We’re also wondering if you can verbalize (to yourself, your therapist, or a trusted loved one/headmate) what feelings exactly are making up the hate. Is it jealousy? Resentment? Disappointment? Frustration? Understanding the specifics of your emotions and what you’re feeling can help you learn how to properly process and regulate them.

If you’re comfortable, perhaps try letting the host know your feelings. If switching isn’t an issue for y’all, maybe you can express how you feel like you aren’t able to front as often as you’d like, and ask if it would be possible for you to spend a bit more time in control of the body. This can allow you to invest in your interests and learn to enjoy experiencing life!

You mentioned you’re an introject - you also may benefit from examining your source and how it relates to you. If connecting with your source is causing you more pain and distress, it may be worth it to attempt some sort of source separation. The painful fact of the matter is that you exist here and now, within the system you belong to. Shifting your focus to what you can control and caring about those who are close to you may help mitigate harm and resentment towards other members of your system.

Perhaps this advice may help you regardless of your origins, or it may not. We’re sorry if these words haven’t been encouraging or helpful!

We will say this:

If you are a created headmate, it may be worth it to remind your host that you are here, breathing, sentient and alive. You deserve agency and autonomy. You are not an imaginary friend, you are not simply a “silly brain friend,” even if you were created consciously or unconsciously without trauma. Your life has value and is not inherently worth less than another member of your system’s. Agency means you should be able to have some power over your situation and choose what happens to you. Autonomy means you should have the freedom of making your own decisions that impact your life. Both of these are important for members of any system of any sort!

A therapist may be able to help you navigate these difficult feelings much better than we can. So if you’re in therapy, this may be an excellent topic to bring up!

Basically:

1) being open and honest,

2) standing up for yourself,

3) not assuming the worst in each other,

4) recognizing that being in a system can be complicated and difficult for everyone, and

5) learning emotional regulation

combined, these things may be able to help you reach a better understanding of yourself and your host, and help you deal with some of your negative feelings as a result!

Sorry this got so long… best of luck to you with everything!!

🌸 Margo and 🐢 Kip

[strxngertogether]

𝑾𝒉𝒚 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆?

Rosie Lohmann

To make things right

You've known for a long time this world is cruel. The fact that life isn't fair might be the first thing you ever learned. You've been hurt deeply, dealt a great injustice that's been engraved time and time again in the scars that litter your existence. Victimhood is a home to you, a familiar place that you always seem to find yourself returning to. Perhaps you've come to believe this is because you're cursed, that it's just your fate to suffer. In your worst moments, you probably think you earned this, because the idea that this is just makes it all hurt a little less. That's not true. Don't ever let yourself think this is your fault or convince yourself it's what you deserved. Remember the very first time you were wounded and recall the child who cried out and screamed it was unfair, who knew that the world should be kind and just and that it is unacceptable that it is not. It hurt so badly then because you were wronged and you understood that. Maybe others have tried to convince you since that what you went through was only natural, that you had to accept this is how things are, that your trauma was just part of growing up. Don't be fooled. There's a reason you've made it this far, that you've persevered in spite of everything. It's because you're the only one who can start to make things right. You deserved better—the child inside you has always known that. That's why you seek to escape into fantasy, to reject the harsh truths you don't feel strong enough to face. It's fine to indulge in these respites, as they are necessary to survive, but don't let them be what you live for. Hang onto your rage, but do not let it make you bitter—instead, dedicate your life to bringing this world a little bit closer to the one you deserved. Give yourself the love and kindness you were denied when you needed it most, and extend that gift to others. Do not ever let yourself grow complacent, becoming the kind of adult you always hated who shrugs their shoulders and says "that's just the way it is." It doesn't have to be. So, be the kind of adult you wished you had, the one who would have gently wrapped you in their arms and protected you from harm. Use your intimate understanding of injustice to live in opposition of it and start to heal yourself along with the world's brokenness. Make recovery what redeems every moment of misery and don't waste another minute of your life regretting that it hasn't been a happier one. Your existence is not worth less because of its struggles or suffering. You deserve to be saved. Don't let yourself be the one who denies you that.

Tagged by: @storyofwhoiam Tagging: You!

Rowena Fatum

To voice something

You have a talent for conveying what others struggle to. Whether it be through actions or words, communication is undeniably your strong suit. You are considered incredibly thoughtful by those around you. Perhaps you have been called eloquent, profound, or insightful. People probably often ask your thoughts, because you have a unique knack for making sense of things. You make the abstract tangible, the esoteric intelligible, the nebulous understandable. You bring into reach what many otherwise couldn't grasp. People seek you out when they seek to understand what's beyond them. You have the unique ability to give a voice and a presence to sentiments others are unable to express. This is incredibly precious. You see, this universe is not something that makes sense on its own—it must be made sense of. For the purpose of comprehending our own existence, we dream up languages, artforms, sciences, philosophies, and religions in an attempt to describe and explain what we witness. By voicing what we perceive, we make the universe take shape. Communication is essential to everything we understand. That is how meaning is constructed from the formless static noise collected by our senses. It may feel as if you are merely an observer of life, a spectator inessential to the world you watch, but people like you couldn't be more necessary. The things you voice become real and accessible through your ability to communicate them. You aren't here just to thoughtlessly watch the world pass you by—your existence is one that connects the pieces of an otherwise incomprehensible picture. The connections we can't live without live and breathe through you. Every time you understand someone and make yourself understood, you are participating in the construction of reality. But be careful—your ability to communicate so effectively gives you unrivaled potential to manipulate. Even that which begins as a falsehood can become reality if it is repeated enough times by enough people. What is spoken into existence cannot always be taken out so easily—so use your voice wisely. Remember: you're here to help us understand where here is.

[moon-catto]

Can I request Gojo x reader where they both r teachers in JJ High? Due to some phenomenon a young final year high school Gojo comes in their time and now he is after the reader because she had been her gf since high school first year. The present Gojo doesn't want to share reader even with his younger self and they both are fighting over her like kissing her randomly , snatching reader away and all. At the end of two days the phenomenon reverses and young Gojo goes back and Gojo is relieved whereas y/n is still in shock

Double Trouble

Summary: Because of a strange curse phenomenon, the 17 years old Gojo Satoru is stranded in the future and meet with his future self and future you.

Warning: fluff, hurt/comfort.

A/N: Thanks for this cute idea! Having one Gojo is already a handful, but two Gojo... I think everything will be a pure chaos skskks also pardon me for leaving you waiting so long. I hope you enjoyed this one like I do!

Masterlist

In Y/N’s house.

The tranquil atmosphere in your house immediately interrupted by the sudden loud sound coming from your front door being smashed open by a six feet tall man with white hair.

“Y/N, My darling, where are you?!” he shouted in panic and goes running into your home after hastily removed his shoes.

“Y/N—” he stops mid sentence at the sight of you, currently chilling on the couch with... His younger self?

*Cue the dramatic violin music*

A gasp escaped his lips. His mouth went agape, as he found himself unable to make any comment related to this strange sight.

“... I know you love me too much, but having a clone of me is—”

“Sit down before I broke your kneecaps, Toru.” You warned with a heavy sigh. Your fingers rubbed your temple because you can sense a headache coming at you in the next moment.

The older Satoru walked to the couch hesitantly, like a cat analysing its’ surrounding. The younger Satoru also mimicked his gesture, his eyes squinted behind the iconic circular sunglasses of his, he’s being wary at the unexpected arrival of a new possible enemy.

“Where did you get this from?” He curiously examined the younger Satoru’s face and he hissed like a mad cat at Satoru’s continuous attempt to poke him. “It looks very realistic, ah— it can be mad too.”

“I’M NOT AN IT!”

“Please sit down first, and I’ll tell you what happened.”

“So that’s what happened.” Surprisingly, the present Satoru is having a decent reaction at this situation. You’d expect him gave you a bit more chaotic response, but seeing him calm like this helped you to think clearly too.

“I think I know what happened.” He said, and it irked both you and the younger Satoru’s interest.

Before he can explain, there’s a knock on your door.

“Come in.” You half yelled, the door can be heard swung open.

“Y/N, I heard you’re having a problem —” Nanami walked to your living room and completely stopped in his track.

Both Gojos looking at him with surprised Pikachu’s face.

“NANAMIN!”

Young Gojo approached him. Looking him from every angle possible. “Dang, your adult version is so fine!”

His glasses cracked.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I don’t think I can help you with this.” He fixed his crooked glasses and spare no glance at Gojo’s attempt to stop him.

“Wait, Nanami—”

The door slammed shut.

Darn it, now you lost a possible ally to solve this whole charade.

“I think he’s still have the trauma from high school after seeing my younger self.” The present Gojo said.

“Whose fault is that?” you gave him a glare.

“This brat’s fault.” He shamelessly pointed at the younger Gojo.

“My fault? You and I are literally the same person.”

“And? I’m better than you, obviously.”

“I always wanted to know what my future self looks like, but now I’m scared to grow up.”

“Listen here, you little piece of shi—"

“Alright, that’s enough.” You cut them off by standing between them. “Now that Nanami is out, we have to find way to return Satoru back to the past.”

“Why are you troubling yourself for him?” Satoru made a disgusted expression at the thought you’re spending more time with that brat. “He can find his own way back.”

“Who are you to decide on that? Huh?” The young Satoru clearly doesn’t show any signs to back down. He sticks his tongue out, a signature move of his.

“What are you? Five? Do you need help to go back to your home, little boy~?” Satoru taunts, putting his intimidating pose but it seems useless judging from how unbothered young Satoru is.

“Satoru, be nice.” You elbowed him but he used the momentum to pull you to his side. His lips found way to yours, he only let go after you bite his lips in retaliation.

“You see, infant. This beautiful woman right here is my girlfriend. And she, whatsoever, doesn’t have any obligation to help you—ugh!” you stepped on his foot to stop him from rambling bullshit.

“I am your girlfriend, but I don’t belong to you or anyone else.” You hissed and young Satoru lets out a loud “Oooooooooh! Burnt!”

“BUT BABY —”

“Shush!” you covered his lips with your palm. “Silence. If you don’t want to help, then fine. I’ll look for ways alone.” You took your coat and looked at young Satoru. “Come with me.”

Satoru’s face lit up at that. “Okay!” He quickly moved to your side and made sure to stick his tongue to other Satoru when you hold his hand.

Ah, Satoru never been this hurt before. He feels like crying and throwing tantrum. “You choose him over me?!”

“Stop being annoying and maybe I’ll consider.” You said before leaving with young Satoru.

The first place you visited is the Shizuoka train station where you met young Satoru. With his hand in yours, you made way to the bustling train station.

Satoru is quiet all the time, which concerns you.

“Are you okay?” you looked at him and caught him staring at you red handed. “Are you hungry?”

“No, I’m not—”

Rumble~

“.....”

“Let’s eat first, shall we?” you chuckled at his red face. His grip on your hand tighten slightly.

“... Okay...”

You quickly bring him to eat at a diner near the train station.

“I don’t need this much—” He complained when you ordered him bunch of foods. Bowls of hot foods served on the table in front of you.

“You need to eat more.” You hand him his chopstick and hand him the hot udon. “You’re so thin, Satoru.” He can sense the worry in your voice. Your concerned pretty face looking at him doesn’t help either.

His cheeks blushed before he digging on his food.

You smiled at his silent obedience. In high school, you used to think teen Gojo is menacing. With his height and immaculate strength, his existence demands respect from others.

Seeing him eating a bowl of udon right now, you realized that he’s nothing more but a young student. You knew this before, but the realization hits harder all the same.

He carried such burden from a young age. You sympathize with him, the selfish adults around him used him as a shield and ignore that he is a human himself. He may look perfect, but deep down is numerous scars and untold dark thoughts clouding in his mind. It’s amazing that he’s coping until now.

You put your hand on his head.

“?” he looked at you.

“Eat well.” You ruffled his hair gently. He should hate you for ruining his hair, but he found himself nodding. Melting from the warmth gesture you gave him.

Bowl by bowl, he finished every bowl and not leaving any bits of rice.

“Good work!” you ruffled his hair again.

“We haven’t done anything yet...”

“This is part of the work!” you told him. A smile adorned your face and made him smile too. “You can never—”

“Work well with empty stomach.” He finished your sentence. “I know. You always tell me that, Y/N.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You acted like my mother more than my actual mother, you know.”

“Ah, I used to nag you a lot, don’t I?” you rubbed your neck in embarrassment.

“I don’t mind.” He shook his head gently. “I think it’s your way of caring for me.”

Is Satoru always this mature? You’re so used to his clown side, you forget that he’s actually capable of thinking these kinds of things.

“Let’s go to the train station now.” He offered his hand to you which you accept happily. His hand feels so warm on yours.

“Okay.”

“Isn’t that count as cheating?” Satoru sulked to Nanami as they watched both of you exited the restaurant while holding hands.

“She cheated on you, with your younger self?” Nanami doesn’t know why Satoru dragged him here. This stupid giant suddenly teleported to his office and pull him here in the next second. He should be kicking his ass right now.

“Does that make this as auto-cheating? You know, like autobiography where people write about themselves.”

“Enough, they’re getting farther.”

“Ah! We should move too!”

“You should move. I’m going back to school.”

“Nanamin!”

You explored the area where you met Satoru. You were trapped inside a half domain expansion of a special grade curse and met him.

“I think the domain expansion connected the past and the future.” You told him.

“That makes sense. The curse I fought here is able to manipulate time.”

“How so?”

“I think I was trapped inside the domain expansion for a day, but the date in my phone remains unchanged.” He showed you his flip phone and observe the date.

“So it stopped the time inside its’ domain expansion.”

“I figured.” He played with his flip phone, the snorlax keychain dangling with his movement.

“... He still have that keychain.” You muttered.

“Who?”

“Your future self. He still keeps that keychain.”

“.... That means he has kept it for eleven years now.”

“Hehe, that seems to be the case.” You giggled.

“He seems to love you so much.” He said, calmly.

“I’m stuck with him.”

“So what about you?” he stopped in his track. “Do you still love him like you did to me in high school?” he asked, but this time you noticed the insecurity seeped in his tone.

“Why are you asking me that?”

“I’m curious as to why you’re still with me, even after eleven years.” He said. “Because it’s hard... to love me.”

Ah...

“I’m worried if you will be bored of me.” He said with a solemn smile. “I can’t love you like the way normal people do, after all.”

He’s still seventeen years old, you reckon but his thoughts is already this heavy.

“Are you afraid you’ll lose me?”

Afraid is a strange word to him. He shouldn’t be related to that word, but the quick thumping of his heart tells him otherwise. Maybe he is indeed afraid. Of falling in love, with you. When he falls deeper, will you be there to catch him?

“Yes.”

“Don’t be.” You pinched his cheek lovingly. “I love you for who you are. I don’t care if you’re unable to love me like normal people do, i always love the way you love me.”

“You sure?”

“Yes. Because I think you are worth the hardships and everything.” You smiled at him. “I loved you in the past and I continue to love you more now.”

His eyes widens at your confession. What is this? This tingling feelings, he feels so full that he wants to cry. You made him feel similar thing when you agreed to be his girlfriend before. He’s falling deeper for you, and he’s not scared of falling now.

“You can’t take back your words.” He says, his hand holding your pinkie finger with his. “I’ll marry you. I definitely will make you my wife.”

His words amused you. Your grin widens at his sincere and eager proposal. Too sweet, you couldn’t contain your smile. “I’ll wait for the ring, Satoru.”

In the end, you can’t find anything. Despite the failure, you think you earned something far more valuable today.

“Welcome home, cheater.” The old Satoru stood in the middle of the living room with arms crossed.

“Glad to see you too, Satoru.” You gave him a kiss on the cheek before walking to the kitchen.

Satoru is still mad that you chose his other self rather than his oh-so-perfect self, but he’s content. You didn’t see it, the way his lips curled into a gentle smile while his finger traced the skin you have kissed.

“You better treat her well.” His attention is shifted towards his younger self. Currently frowning and glaring at him. “Or I will kick your ass directly myself.”

The present Satoru is rather delighted at the threat. “Don’t worry, she is my queen. I don’t plan to treat her lesser than that.”

“Good.”

“I should said the same to you.” He leaned closer to flick his forehead. “You shouldn’t wait for too long to propose her.”

“I’m planning to propose her after I got back.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear.” Satoru chuckled. “Buy a nice ring for her, won’t ya?”

“What are you talking about?” you shouted from the back. “Help me make dinner!”

“What did you told him?” you asked Satoru. His younger self magically disappear after saying goodbye to you the next day. You believed that the curse in the past already been exorcised, so the flow of the time became normal— thus the young Satoru automatically came back to his time.

“What?”

“I don’t remember buying this ring.” You showed him a gold ring on your annular finger. “And we’re engaged now? I don’t know what’s happening now.”

“I see that he’s keeping up with his word.” He muses before he gave you a kiss on the lips.

“... What are you scheming, Satoru?”

“Definitely not something bad. Come on,” he pulled you to the backyard in his house.

“Satoru, I swear if this is one of your prank—” your words are stopped as soon as you saw the flower arrangement in the backyard, people you knew are there wearing suits and dresses.

“Nanami? Shoko? Eh, Utahime too?”

“Took you both so long.” Yuuji groaned. “Man, I almost ate the cake.”

“Cake??? What is going on?” you noticed that you’re still in your pajama and immediately panicked. Satoru is wearing his usual blue shirt and dress pants, more appropriate than your attire. “Satoru, let me change first—”

“No can do, sweetheart. Everyone is waiting for us now.”

“Satoru—” he continues to lead you to the centre of the backyard. “What is happening?”

Satoru doesn’t give you any explanation. He stood there with a rather nervous smile on his face. “I’m fulfilling my promise to you.”

“Huh?”

“Remember when you took my younger self to the train station yesterday?”

You nodded.

“Remember what he said?”

“He asked me about my feelings and— Oh...”

Satoru kneeled in front of you. He pulled a red box from his pocket. He opened it, revealing a gold ring with a delicate diamond on top of it. “Y/N—“

“Oh, God. Are you serious right now?” you began to tearing up when he grabbed your hand.

“Will you marry me?”

Masterlist

[loveyourlovelysoul]

What happened during your childhood can really affect your present/adult life. If you had to experience very tough situations/traumatic events, it may have made you more pessimistic changing your life-view (you have generalized negative expectations about people: it's harder to imagine good things can happen to you too); you feel alone, and more prone to anxiety issues and depression (you feel guilt and shame, you don't feel confident and therefore your interpersonal relationships are basically non-existant); you end up self-sabotaging your relationships and career (abused and traumatized children may have attachment disorders): you don't believe in good human nature, you only think (distortedly) that others only want to hurt you (you lack trust); you don't feel safe and it shows cause you feel overly timid, anxious, fearful, seek for approval and attention: it's hard to unlearn about an habit/behaviour you had been taught during your early years and thought was okay (cause you trusted your caregivers); you may feel unable to express what you've been through and how you feel using words, and even self-victimize yourself cause of this or for what happened, but remember trauma is never your fault. Find your own outlet for it. Do it for yourself.

[the-bau-quinjet]

One Misunderstanding

Bucky x Reader

Summary: You struggle to fix Bucky's first impression of you. Bucky struggles with his own feelings.

Warnings: angst, Hydra things- like brainwashing and torture, a few curse words, panic attacks, anxiety

Word count: 5609

a/n: this idea came to me very suddenly, but I'm in love with it. Hopefully whatever I just wrote does it justice.

Masterlist

"Everyone, meet Y/N. She's the newest member of our little group, bringing in a whole new level of hacking and tech skills. Y/N, meet the team." Tony introduced you to everyone, eager to share your skills.

You turned to the group, getting ready to introduce yourself further, but instead tripped. You shrieked as you fell down the small set of stairs you were at the top of.

Sam, being the closest, caught you. "Good thing you've got tech skills." He chuckled as you righted yourself, firmly planting your feet on the ground.

"Haha, yeah. I'm not a big fan of violence." You winced as you said it, wishing you could take it back. You didn't want to get into the reasons as to why you don't like violence.

To your surprise, nobody asked why. You would have guessed they would have questions, but maybe they weren't interested in your past. They all had their own issues to deal with afterall.

"Eh, we don't need anymore people for fighting anyway. Welcome to the team." Steve greeted you warmly, as you would have expected from America's golden boy.

You gratefully shook his hand, glad to not have to talk about anything yet. Unfortunately, you tripped again when you tried to move back, falling into the one and only Bucky Barnes.

His hands steadied you, dryly laughing at your clumsiness. "You really are clumsy."

You did you best to not show how embarrassed you were. You couldn't deny the claim. Unless you were fighting, something you vowed to yourself to never do again, you were clumsy.

Being abducted and tortured by Hydra may have made you a competent fighter, but your aptitude for tripping over nothing never left.

"Right, sorry!" You greeted everyone else quickly, eager to get situated in your room. "I'm just going to unpack everything." You waved as you backed out of the room, bumping into the wall as you left.

-

You had just finished putting away your stuff when you heard a knock on your door.

"Come in!" You figured someone would have questions for you.

Unsurprisingly, Natasha was the one to step into your room. Of everyone there, you expected her to have learned about your past. It comes with the territory of being a spy.

"Hi, I was hoping to talk to you." Her tone was friendly, but clearly she was skeptical of you. Again, you weren't surprised.

"I thought you might. I'm assuming you read my file? Honestly, I thought everyone would." You laughed gently, shaking your head at yourself.

"I did. Your file is pretty bare bones though. I did some extra digging... Not everyone else is as nosy as me." She grinned, already pleased with your openness. "So, why'd you pretend to be clumsy?"

"Oh, it wasn't pretend. I've always been clumsy. When everything happened, and I learned how to fight, I thought my newfound agility would help. Turns out, it didn't. The only times I'm even the slightest bit coordinated are when I'm fighting or training, but I wasn't lying about that either. When I escaped, I promised myself I wouldn't hurt anyone else."

"Why join the Avengers at all then?" She looked curious, still unsure if she could trust you.

"I wanted to help people. I just didn't want to use the skills they gave me to do it. So, I learned how to code, figured I could help behind the scenes."

She smiled, letting down her guard. Clearly it would take some time, but you could easily see the two of you being close friends.

"So, nobody knows about what you went through?" She couldn't help but be curious about your past.

"Nope. I don't talk about it much, but it's not a secret. I'll answer anything you want to know." You smiled, eager to try and make a real friend here.

You spent the next few hours answering every question Natasha could think of. You told her about being abducted and experimented on.

That lead to even more questions, basically boiling down to the fact that you're not a super soldier, but you do have enhanced senses- and seemingly enhanced clumsiness for when you're not using them.

You told her about learning how to fight, and the punishments you would endure if you got it wrong. The two of you bonded over the shared experience.

Finally, you told her about how you escaped. When the Winter Soldier escaped, every Hydra effort possible was made to find him. That included you. Resources were spread thin, trying to cover more areas. It was the perfect opportunity for you to get out.

"Really, I owe my freedom to him. Even if he doesn't know anything about me." You felt the tears in your eyes, too many emotions swirling through you to keep it all in anymore. "Since then, I've learned everything I could about technology and coding, which pretty much brings you up to date."

Before she could ask anymore questions, there was another knock on your door. Quickly wiping the tears from your eyes, you called another "come in!"

Steve poked his head in the door, cautiously looking between you and Nat.

"I've been sent to stop the interrogation." He grinned, stepping farther into the room.

Nat rose from her spot on the bed, kissing him on the cheek while rolling her eyes. "It wasn't an interrogation. We were bonding."

"Yeah, over what?" He chuckled, trying to figure out what the two of you had in common.

Maybe it was the look in your eyes, or maybe Nat just likes knowing more than everyone, but she smiled conspiratorially at you before responding. "Girl stuff, babe. Just girl stuff."

You smiled as the couple left the room, grateful for not having to explain everything again.

-

Over the next few weeks, the team constantly teased you for your clumsiness. Well, not the whole team. Nat knew the truth, so she never said anything. Peter never teased you either, although that is likely due to the teasing he endures as well.

Weirdly enough, you bonded with the kid over it, eventually telling him about your past as well.

Normally you could shake it off. They clearly didn't mean anything by it. Except Bucky.

Whenever he said anything, he stared you down. His eyes felt like they were piercing your soul. You're not sure exactly why, but he didn't seem to like you much.

Which wouldn't be an issue if you didn't have an embarrassing crush on the man.

Really your infatuation started when you first escaped Hydra. His own escape lead to your freedom, so you admired him. When you found out he was working with the Avengers to help people, you admired him even more.

Watching him on missions is really what caused the infatuation to blossom into a full blown crush.

You, however, would adamantly deny that if anyone ever asked. Which is what just happened.

"What?!" You nearly tripped, again, with how quickly you turned to look at Wanda and Nat.

"You heard me." Nat stared at you, a neutral expression on her face. "When are you going to do something about your crush on Barnes."

"I, I don't- I don't have a crush on Bucky." You stuttered, a lackluster job at denying the truth.

"Please, Y/N. It's so obvious!" Wanda joined in.

The three of you hung out a lot around the compound. It was nice to have a support system to lean on when things got hard.

"Well, even if I did, which I'm not saying I do! He doesn't like me. I don't know what I did, but his eyes feel like daggers whenever we're in the same room." You started out strong, but quickly morphed into a sad resignation. It genuinely upset you that Bucky didn't like you.

"I think I might know what that's about..." Wanda bit her lip, immediately feeling guilty at having said anything.

"What!?" You eagerly turned to her, needing answers. You shuffled your way across the room, never fully rising from your seat on the ground.

"I don't know if I should tell you! I'm not even supposed to know, but sometimes his thoughts are really loud!" Her guilt multiplied.

"You have to tell me now! Then I can fix it!" You were practically begging at her feet from your position on the floor.

She looked at Nat, who just shrugged in return. "Not my place, although I would love to hear it."

"Ugh, fine. But you can't tell anyone I told you!" Wanda glared at the two of you, unable to say no to your pouting face. "The first day we all met you, do you remember what you said?"

Your face scrunched as you tried to remember. "I'm not a big fan of violence?"

She nodded, looking at you as if she just told you everything.

"So?" You asked incredulously, unable to follow her train of thought.

She rolled her eyes, having to spell it out for you. "He kind of took that personally..."

Immediately, you sunk completely to the floor. "Oh, god. Fuck! That's not what I meant at all! I just meant I don't personally like using violence! Shit, shit, shit." You continued to mutter to yourself as Nat and Wanda shared a look.

"Why don't you like using violence?" Wanda asked, intrigued by your reaction.

You thought back to your conversation with Nat the first day you got here. You told her it wasn't a secret, it just wasn't something you brought up.

"Can you just look in my head? I don't really wanna explain it, but I want you to know." You asked, glad to share you past with another friend.

Wanda nodded, seemingly doing nothing until realization dawned on her.

"Oh shit." She whispered, not even realizing she said it out loud.

"Yeah." You huffed out a dry laugh.

"Y/N... I'm so sorry." You smiled at her, having worked through most of the trauma already. "You totally have a crush on Barnes though."

That earned a real laugh. "Hey, that's not what you were in there for!"

"It's not my fault! You were thinking it really loudly!"

The three of you laughed together until you sunk back into a pit of despair.

"What do I do? How do I fix this?" You whined, laying back on the ground like a child.

"I think you just need to talk to him. Explain what you meant." Wanda shrugged, unsure of any other advice to offer you.

"She's right. Just talk to him." Nat nodded along as you whined on the floor.

-

After a few days, you finally worked up enough courage to try and talk to Bucky. He had just finished training, so you knew exactly where he'd be: in the kitchen.

Walking in, you were glad to see him pulling ingredients from the fridge.

"Hey Bucky, can I, um, talk to you for a minute?" You stuttered through the words, nervous about what he would say.

He barely looked at you, nodding his head for you to continue.

"I just, I wanted to apologize." You trailed off when his head snapped up.

"For what?" Well shit. How are you supposed to explain this one without ratting out Wanda.

"Oh, well, um... I just thought maybe I said- I did something that upset you. Uh, you just don't seem to like me very much, which is totally cool, you don't have to like me if you don't want to. I just didn't want it to be my fault... Fuck." That went horribly. Taking a deep breath, you started over. "I didn't mean it."

Bucky is looking at you like you have three heads. "Didn't mean what?"

"That I don't like violence."

"So you do... like violence." He'd somehow grown more confused.

"Well, no." You paused, unsure of how to explain yourself.

"Then you did mean it." His soul piercing stare is back.

"I-"

"It's fine, save it. Some people get to choose not to be violent." And with that, he left the kitchen, abandoning his post workout smoothie.

You stared at the doorway, in shock over how poorly that went. You stood there , unaware of the 25 minutes that had passed, trying to figure out how it could've gone better when Steve found you.

"Y/N? What are you doing?"

You didn't hear him, too lost in the memories. Memories of Hydra, forcing you to do things you never wanted to. This happened from time to time if something triggered you into remembering, otherwise you had a handle on your emotions.

"Y/N?" Steve said your name again, concern evident in his voice. He gently laid a hand on your shoulder, trying to get your attention.

Everything happened so fast after that. The feeling of someone's hand on your shoulder caused you to panic. With all the memories of Hydra in your head, your training kicked in instinctually.

You grabbed Steve's arm, pulling him closer to you for better leverage. Before he could question your moves, you flipped him, pinning him to the ground.

The second you made eye contact, you realized what just happened. Horror and regret flashed in your eyes.

In an effort to get off him, you threw yourself backward, knocking into a cart full of pots and pans. The clanging of metal hitting the ground echoed through the small room.

Steve sat up slowly, trying to register the turn of events. You sat in a ball on the floor, tears pooling in your eyes, mumbling apologies over and over again.

Sam, having heard the commotion from the pots and pans, ran into the kitchen ready to fight.

"What- What happened?" He asked in confusion, lowering his arms from their defensive position.

"I don't know." Steve looked at you, still trying to figure it out.

"Y/N?" Sam's voice was gentle, but it still startled you.

You jumped from the ground, rushing to help Steve get up. "I'm so sorry! I didn't mean to. I never wanted to hurt anyone again." Your breathing was picking up, short bursts of air leaving your lungs. Your hands were shaking as you pulled him from the ground.

Your panic increased as you took in their concerned expressions.

"Hey, look at me." Steve's Captain voice, came out, urging you to make eye contact. You followed orders, breathing rapidly, your whole body shaking.

"I'm going to touch you now, is that okay?" His words were gentle, but commanding, causing you to nod in response.

He pulled you into a tight hug, rubbing soothing circles on your back.

You wanted to explain, to tell them what happened, but all that came out was a pitiful "Bucky".

"Do you want me to get Bucky?" Sam asked, trying to understand you.

The idea of Bucky coming back caused your panic to increase. You shook your head rapidly, "No! No no no no no." You kept repeating the word, shaking in Steve's arms.

"Okay! Okay, no Bucky." Sam reassured you, voice calm and soothing.

You’re not sure how long you stood like that. Sam moved around the kitchen, cleaning up the pots and pans you had knocked over.

When your breathing steadied, Steve asked, "Do you want to talk about what happened?"

You nodded, leading the two men to the couch in the adjacent common area. You sat for a minute, unsure of where to start.

"Why don't you just lead us through it all?" Steve suggested, still rubbing your back.

You nodded, grateful for the starting point. "I went to the kitchen to apologize to Bucky."

"What for?" Sam interrupted, already confused.

"Sam! Just let her talk." Steve muttered, slightly annoyed.

"Sorry!" He glared back at Steve before turning to you, "Sorry, please continue."

You couldn't help but laugh at their banter.

"Right, I wanted to apologize for what I said the first day I met you all. I realized how it sounded, so I wanted to try and fix it." You paused, waiting for the recognition to hit them.

It didn't take long. The two men nodded, silently urging you to continue.

"Honestly, Wanda told me that was why he always seems mad at me. You have to know, I never meant for it to come across that way! It's more of a personal, 'I don't want to be violent' than shunning others for doing what's necessary." You took a deep breath, not eager to relive the conversation.

"Anyway, I told him I didn't mean it. I just couldn't explain it right, and he got upset, which makes sense!" You turned to look between them, not wanting them to think you were insulting Bucky in any way. "I don't hold what he did against him. It wasn't his choice, and I completely understand that. I just couldn't put that into words when I was talking to him, and I made everything worse."

Tears popped into your eyes again, upset at what he must be going through. You weren't with Hydra for but a tenth of the time he was, and you didn't endure the same level of brainwashing.

"He said something about some people not being able to choose not to be violent, and then he left. I don't know how long I was standing in the kitchen replaying the conversation, but it brought up bad memories for me." You sighed again, working up the nerve to tell them everything.

"Wanda and Nat already know, but I guess it's your guys's turn. This was so much easier to just have Wanda read my mind." You laughed at your own joke, the two men sharing a concerned look.

"I was taken... by Hydra. They experimented on me, gave me enhanced senses, trained me to fight, and punished me when I did something wrong." Again, tears sprung into your eyes, occasionally falling down your cheeks.

"Why wasn't this in your file?" Steve questioned, more to himself than you.

"I haven't got a clue. I guess nobody knew about me? But, I escaped. They didn't brainwash me like they did Bucky, because I don't have the serum. Or, at least, I think that's why." You shook your head, refocusing on the important parts.

"When every available Hydra agent was tasked with searching for the Winter Soldier, I took it as on opportunity. Their resources were spread thin. I was able to getaway."

You went onto explain your reasoning for joining the Avengers as a tech specialist, trying to convey the same earnestness you did with Nat.

"You can ask Nat or Wanda too. Nat found out day one, Wanda a few days ago." You wiped your tears, hoping they believed you. "Actually, Peter knows too."

"I was stuck in all those memories when you came into the kitchen. I didn't even register that you were in the room, so when you touched me I freaked out. I never meant to hurt you!"

You looked at Steve fearful that he would be upset.

"Y/N, I believe you." You cried tears of relief at his statement, genuinely exhausted from the day. "It's not your fault, and you didn't hurt me. Just caught me off guard. You're surprisingly agile when you want to be." He tried to lighten the mood, glad to hear you laugh.

"Well, I train in the middle of the night sometimes. I- I want to be able to get out if I'm ever forced back there." Your voice was quiet, admitting a secret you hadn't even told Nat.

"We won't let that happen." The sternness of Sam's voice surprised you.

"Thank you." You wiped your tears a final time, looking between the two men. "Now, what do I do about Bucky?" You refocused your energy on fixing your relationship with the super soldier.

"He never would have said what he said if he had known." Steve started the conversation, defending his friend.

"I know. I don't hold it against him, I just wish I could explain. I get so nervous when he looks at me like that." You rambled, too tired to filter your thoughts.

"Like what?" Sam asked, eager for more information to tease Bucky with.

"Huh? Oh, I don't know. Like he can see into my soul." You deadpanned, earning a laugh from both men. "I just want him to like me." You nearly whined, upset by your poor relationship.

"Like you, huh?" Steve grinned. Nat and Wanda chose that exact moment to walk into the room, eagerly joining the conversation.

"Barnes? Did you tell him how you feel?" Wanda squealed with excitement.

You buried your head in your hands, avoiding the knowing looks the four of them were surely sharing. "Not exactly." You gestured to your head, hoping Wanda would figure it out and share with Nat.

"Ooh... It didn't go well, basically Barnes got upset, Y/N flipped Steve and had a panic attack, then told these two everything." Wanda explained to Nat quickly, trying not to make you relive it.

"We need a plan." Nat declared.

"No, I just need to learn how to have a conversation with the man." You rolled your eyes at yourself. "I'll try talking to him again." You went to leave the room, turning around to glare at them. "And none of you can say a word of this to Bucky."

-

Despite you request, Steve still tried to talk to Bucky.

"What's up with you?" Steve questioned, trying to subtly pry into Bucky's thoughts.

"Nothing. Why?" Bucky answered in a questioning tone, trying to figure out Steve's motives.

"I heard you talked to Y/N is all. How'd it go?" He gave up on the subtle approach pretty quickly, knowing Bucky wouldn't answer a question that wasn't asked.

"How did you even hear that, punk?" Bucky deflected.

"Not the point. Answer the question."

"Not great. I messed it up." Bucky sighed, annoyed at himself for barging out of the room. "She said wanted to apologize, that she didn't mean what she said." He ran his hands through his hair, struggling to explain where it all went wrong.

"Would've been fine if I could follow what she was saying. She was rambling about me not liking her, which you and I both know isn't true. Ugh, i've never been mad at her. I'm mad at myself! At Hydra for making me a monster! How could she ever like me if she doesn't like violence? My entire past is violent." He huffed, having worked himself up again.

"You're not a monster, Buck." Steve started gently.

"I know you think that." Steve gave him a pointed glare. "I know, okay? But what does she think?"

"Maybe you should try talking to her. You might be surprised by what you learn." Steve clapped him on the shoulder, trying to reassure him, before leaving the room.

-

Everytime you tried to talk to Bucky, something got in the way. The first time, he was called in for an emergency mission before you even got the word hello out.

The second time, Tony walked into the common area, completely oblivious to the tension, and put on a movie.

The third time, Steve and Nat interrupted you. You were just about to apologize again after an awkward greeting when the elevator doors opened. The sounds of the cheerful laughter and stolen kisses didn't really set the mood for confessing your past with Hydra.

The fourth, and final time, was the most embarrassing.

You walked into the room on a mission. You were going to talk to him, no matter who decided to walk in.

"Bucky, I really need to-" and you tripped on a toy Morgan left out, causing you to tumble to the ground. That would have been embarrassing enough, but there's more.

In your effort to get up, you tripped again, hitting your head on the coffee table, causing you to bleed profusely.

"Shit." You cursed yourself, holding your hand up to your bleeding forehead.

"Are you okay?" Bucky rushed to you from the other side of the table, concerned with the amount of blood spewing from your head.

"Yeah, I'll be fine." Unfortunately, you chose that moment to jokingly reference your past.

Some of the people who tortured you had a sick sense of humor. Whenever they would hit you hard enough to make you bleed, they said something about only having one head. A play on words because of the greek serpent with multiple heads.

"Head wounds bleed a lot, I'm lucky I only have one." You froze instantly, unsure if he would have had a similar experience. Slowly, you looked up in an effort to make eye contact.

Bucky was also frozen in place. Clearly he understood the reference.

"Wh- where did you hear that?" Bucky struggled with his sentence, trying not to flashback to his time at Hydra.

"Oh my god. I'm so so sorry." You instantly started apologizing, trying to backtrack. "I really need to learn when to stop fucking talking." You said more to yourself than him.

"Where did you hear it?" He asked again, putting more power behind his words.

"Um, well, i've been trying to tell you for weeks now, but um, I also kind of, have, um, well, you see-"

"Just spit it out." There was the slightly miffed Bucky you were used to.

"I was taken. By Hydra. 9 years ago. Um, they forced me to learn how to fight. Tortured me if I did anything wrong. Forced me to do things..." You trailed off, realizing you didn't need to give him many details. He has first hand experience.

"Y/N, I-" You cut him off before he could say anything else.

"That's why I don't like using violence. I only know how to do that stuff because they made me learn it. I didn't want to use the skills they gave me." You took a deep, grounding breath.

"I don't blame you for anything you were forced to do. It wasn't your choice. You're not a violent person, and your past actions don't define who you are. You're here to help people. That's what you chose. That's who you are."

You made eye contact before you continued. "I've actually wanted to thank you for the longest time."

"For what?" He was incredulous, wildly caught off guard by everything you've said.

"The only reason I had an opportunity to escape was because 2 years ago, you escaped. If Hydra's resources hadn't been spread so thin trying to find you, I probably would've never got out. So thank you. For being strong enough to fight back."

You smiled at him, still unsure of how he was feeling.

"I... I'm so sorry." To say you were stunned was an understatement. What the hell could he have to be sorry about? Sure he was a little rude, but from your point of view he was completely justified in hating you.

"Bucky, you have no reason to be sorry. You didn't know, and I couldn't get out of my head enough to tell you. You just make me nervous." You clapped a hand over your mouth, shocked at having said what you just said.

You could see his face fall ever so slightly, causing you to jump back into your explanation.

"Not because I'm scared of you or anything! Hell, I could probably take you in a fight." You winked, trying to lighten the mood. It seemed to work, judging by the slight smirk on his face.

"I just, I've looked up to you for so long. Your determination to do good after everything you've been through is really inspiring. It's actually why I wanted to join the Avengers in the first place. I never would have-" You would have kept rambling if he hadn't stopped you.

"Y/N, I am sorry, and I do have reason to be. There's no excuse for what I said to you in the kitchen that day. Even if I didn't know, I threw everything you've been through back in your face. If someone had done that to me, I probably would have had a panic attack." He tried joking, but by the way you froze he could tell he struck a nerve.

"You had a panic attack? I'm so sorry! God, I just left you all alone and-"

It was your turn to cut him off. "Actually, I was kind of frozen in place until Steve touched me and I maybe threw him to the ground... Then I had a panic attack..." You smiled, trying to convey the joke. "So, I wasn't alone. Sam was actually also there. If anything, it made me better friends with both of them because I told them everything. So I have you to thank for that to." You playfully nudged his side.

He ran his hands through his hair, then down his face, clearly trying to deal with his own guilt.

"Hey, don't beat yourself up about it. You didn't know. It happened. We're good now, so we can move on." You smiled, trying to cheer him up.

"How are you so relaxed about all of this? You were tortured for years... I..." He was genuinely curious, trying to find a way to cope with his own pain.

"Well, even before that I always thought therapy could be helpful for me, so I really jumped in full force when I was free. Plus, if you can't joke about something, you haven't really moved on. Some days are harder than others, but I just try to appreciate the people I have now and the good experiences I've been lead to." You kept the tone light, trying not to get too emotional.

He just stared at you for a few minutes, making you questions everything.

"I mean, it's totally different for you though! I was only there for 7 years, you were forced into all that for like 10 times as long. I didn't mean to belittle-"

"I think you inspire me just as much as you say I've inspired you." He cut you off again, a small smile growing on your lips.

"Well, in the spirit of our newfound friendship, can I be totally honest?" You bit your lip, nervous about telling him the truth.

He looked nervous as well, but nodded anyway.

"I kind of, maybe, sort of have a crush on you." You watched his expression carefully, although there was really no need. His face easily gave away his surprise.

"You..." He stuttered, moving his fingers between the two of you. "Me? But, I was so mean!"

"What can I say, I saw through the facade... Well, really Wanda accidentally read your mind and told me why you were so upset around me when her and Nat teamed up to get me to tell you how I feel." You rambled again, realization dawning that you accidentally outed Wanda.

"But you can't tell her I told you that! She didn't mean to! She just said you think really loud sometimes and it's hard not to hear it! She did it to me too actually, I mean I told her she could look in my head so I wouldn't have to explain everything again, I know so lazy, and that's how she confirmed my crush on you." You said it all with wide eyes at a rapid speed, unable to control yourself around Bucky.

You slapped your hands over your mouth, forcing yourself to stop talking. Bucky looked on in amusement, slowly reaching to pull your hands away from your face.

"I won't tell her, if you get dinner with me tonight." He smiled cheekily, relishing in your blush.

"That's a deal I'm willing to make." You reached your arms around his neck, kissing his cheek before running to get ready.

***

Bonus:

Sam whined playfully as he looked at the high scores. "Whose username is 'God is a spoon' and how did they get so good at this game?"

He looked around the room, eying any suspicious candidates. Everyone denied it, throwing out accusations left and right.

It was another of Tony's team bonding nights and he chose VR games on the oculus. Obviously, Beat Saber was a top contender amongst the group.

You walked in with Bucky, unaware of the conversation going on, but immediately joining it.

"Peter! I bet it was him!" You playfully nudged the younger Avenger, having formed a close friendship in the early days. "What am I betting on?" Everyone laughed, happy to see you in a good mood after being so stressed for so long.

"Whose username is 'God is a spoon'." Sam chuckled after filling you in. You and Bucky settled on the couch, cuddling next to each other.

"Oh, that's me. Why?" You looked around curiously, trying to figure out what they wanted. "Is it a weird username? It was actually one of the catchphrase things in Just Dance on the switch, I didn't just think of it." You tried to justify yourself, causing more laughter.

"You?! How did you get all the highscores on this game? I thought you were the clumsy one."

You made an exaggerated face to show how offended you were, playfully swatting at Sam.

"I'll have you know, 7 years of Hydra 'training' and experimentation has its perks." You joked with the room. "One of them being I can beat your ass at pretty much any video game."

"Oh, you're so on." Sam smiled, glad he could joke around with you about it.

Meanwhile, Tony looked incredulously around the room, being the only one in the room who hadn't heard about your history, he was rightfully confused.

"I'm sorry, 7 years of WHAT?"

[free--therapy]

More About Dealing with Anger

How to Know When Anger is Getting Out of Control

Anger becomes a problem when it starts to harm you or the people around you.

Signs of anger problems include when:

You find it difficult to avoid expressing anger through unhealthy, unhelpful or destructive behavior such as: - Verbal anger: aggressive shouting, swearing, threats, or name-calling - Physical anger: violence and lashing out, hitting or pushing others, breaking things, punching objects to feel a sense of release - Non-violent or passive anger: ignoring people, sulking, refusing to do tasks or doing them deliberately poorly - Inward anger: hiding your anger, harming yourself, denying yourself your basic needs, saying you hate yourself,

Your anger has a negative impact on your mental and physical health

Anger becomes your go-to emotion, blocking out other feelings

You react quickly and violently to minor issues

You wrongly accuse friends and relatives of disrespecting or lying to you

You consistently have the same arguments with people when reacting to similar triggers each time, without finding new ways to deal with these feelings of anger

You feeling frustrated with your actions during an argument or regretting them instantly after the event

You struggle to compromise or arrive easily at mutual agreements without getting angry

You have problems with expressing emotions in a calm and healthy way

Cycles of bad behaviour may be affecting relationships

Symptoms of An Anger Problem:

Depression, anxiety, paranoia, frustration, lack of sleep, social isolation, headaches, increased blood pressure, heart palpitations, tightened or anxious feelings in the chest area, blushing, sweating, fatigue, substance abuse or addiction.

Anger Management Tips

First, recognize the signs of anger:

heart is beating faster

breathing is quicker

feet are tapping

you're clenching your jaw or fists

a churning feeling in your stomach

tightness in your chest

legs go weak

tense muscles

you feel hot

you have an urge to go to the toilet

sweating, especially your palms

a pounding head

shaking or trembling

dizziness

feeling tense, nervous or unable to relax

feeling guilty

feeling resentful towards other people or situations

you are easily irritated

feeling humiliated

Then, buy yourself some time:

Count to 10 before you react. Take a few moments to collect your thoughts before saying anything you’ll regret— and allow others involved in the situation to do the same. As soon as you're thinking clearly, express your frustration in an assertive but non confrontational way.

Take a timeout. Take yourself out of the situation by going for a short walk – even if it's just around your block or local area.

Talk to a trusted person who's not connected to the situation, such as a friend, family member, counsellor or peer support group. If you don't feel comfortable talking to someone you know, you can confidentially call the Samaritans 24 hours a day to talk about anything that's upsetting you.

Techniques to Manage your Anger feelings:

Breathe slowly – try to breathe out for longer than you breathe in and focus on each breath as you take it.

Relax your body – if you can feel your body getting tense, try focusing on each part of your body in turn to tense and then relax your muscles.

Try mindfulness techniques – mindfulness can help you to be aware of when you're getting angry and can help calm your body and mind down.

Exercise – try to work off your anger through exercise. Sports like running or boxing can be really helpful for releasing pent up energy.

Use up your energy safely in other ways – this can help relieve some of your angry feelings in a way that doesn't hurt yourself or others. For example, you could try tearing up a newspaper, hitting a pillow or smashing ice cubes in a sink.

Do something to distract yourself mentally or physically – anything that completely changes your situation, thoughts or patterns can help stop your anger escalating. See our positive outlets below.

Identify possible solutions: Instead of focusing on what made you mad, work on resolving the issue at hand. Remind yourself that anger won't fix anything and might only make it worse.

Stick with 'I' statements: To avoid criticizing or placing blame — which might only increase tension — use "I" statements to describe the problem. For example, say, "I'm upset that you left the table without offering to help with the dishes" instead of "You never do any housework."

Don't hold a grudge: If you allow anger and other negative feelings to crowd out positive feelings, you might find yourself swallowed up by your own bitterness or sense of injustice. But if you can forgive someone who angered you, you might both learn from the situation and strengthen your relationship.

Use humor to release tension: Lightening up can help diffuse tension. Use humor to help you face what's making you angry and, possibly, any unrealistic expectations you have for how things should go. Avoid sarcasm, though — it can hurt feelings and make things worse.

Know when to seek help: Seek help for anger issues if your anger seems out of control, causes you to do things you regret or hurts those around you. - Anger management classes allow you to meet others coping with the same struggles and learn tips and techniques for managing your anger. - Therapy, either group or individual, can be a great way to explore the reasons behind your anger and identify triggers. Therapy can also provide a safe place to practice new skills for expressing anger.

Managing Anger in the Long Term

Explore what’s really behind your anger: is your anger masking other feelings such as embarrassment, hurt, insecurity, shame or vulnerability? Is it stemming from what you learned as a child? Is it a symptom of an underlying health problem such as depression, anxiety, trauma or chronic stress?

Identify your triggers:  Look at your regular routine and try to identify activities, times of day, people, places, or situations that trigger irritable or angry feelings. When you identify your triggers, think about ways to either avoid them or view the situations differently so they don’t make your blood boil.

Negative thought processes that can trigger anger: anger doesn’t always stem directly from external factors. It is caused by how you react to and think about what happens in these instances. Here are common negative thought patterns that can trigger and fuel anger: - Overgeneralizing: For example, using phrases like “He ALWAYS interrupts me” and “NEVER is on time” or “EVERYONE disrespects me. - Obsessing over “shoulds” and “musts”: having a rigid view/structure of the way things should or must go cultivates anger when reality doesn’t line up. - Mind reading and jumping to conclusions: Assuming you “know” what someone else is thinking or feeling—that they intentionally upset you, ignored your wishes, or disrespected you. - Collecting straws: Looking for small things to get upset about, usually while overlooking or blowing past anything positive, and letting these small irritations build and build until you reach the “final straw” and explode, often over something relatively minor. - Blaming. When anything bad happens or something goes wrong, it’s always someone else’s fault. You tell yourself, “life’s not fair,” or blame others for your problems rather than taking responsibility for your own life.

Take care of yourself: taking care of your physical and mental health and wellbeing can help ease tension and diffuse anger problems - Manage stress - Talk to someone you trust - Get enough sleep - Exercise regularly - Be smart about alcohol and drugs

Treatment and Support: Talking Therapy and Counseling - Talk to your doctor or PCP about finding a trained professional (a counselor or psychotherapist) to talking about your problems with

[singofsolace]

In celebration (and mourning) of Jill Murphy, I am taking stock of my own relationship to The Worst Witch and what it has meant to me.

In light of the recent deaths of Jill Murphy, the author of The Worst Witch book series, and Una Stubbs, the original Mrs. Bat, I have a lot of feelings I'm working through this morning. I'm crying as I write this, so it might not be as eloquent as I want it to be. I'm sorry in advance.

It's hard to articulate what The Worst Witch means to me. I've read the books and watched both the 1998 and 2017 television series. They've provided me endless hours of entertainment and inspiration. I've spent countless hours writing stories inspired by Jill Murphy's creations, and I really can't express how much her work has helped me in my worst moments.

To this day, there is one scene that never fails to make me cry:

I remember how I felt watching this the first time. Seeing this scene unlocked feelings in me I had locked up for a long time. It showed me how an adult should handle a conversation like this, even though as a child, no adults in my life had ever treated me with this kind of respect. It showed me that it was possible for an adult to receive criticism--even criticism they disagree with (like when she reacts pretty strongly to Mildred saying that she doesn't like it when she shouts). No adult has ever in the history of my life accepted criticism like this without some sort of retaliation, deflection, or just complete denial. (Key example: "I didn't say that, but even if I did, I didn't mean it like that, and even if I did mean it, it was your fault because.... blah blah blah")

There was such a... I don't know... softness to this conversation, even as Miss Hardbroom is explaining all the reasons she gives Mildred a hard time. I love how Constance allows Mildred to have her say, because as a child, adults never treated me like my thoughts and opinions mattered to them. In this scene, Constance allowed Mildred the opportunity to criticize her freely. (My mother and father and teachers would never?!?!). It was nearly beyond my comprehension that an adult would do this. I'm crying harder just thinking about it, and that's that on childhood trauma.

Anyway, when the new Worst Witch series came out, I wasn't expecting to fall in love with it as much as I did, but Raquel Cassidy won me over as the new Miss Hardbroom. And when Pippa Pentangle was introduced, I fell hard for their beautiful, complicated, not-so-subtly sapphic relationship. And while I didn't enjoy where the series winded up going, I will always be grateful that the first two seasons of The Worst Witch exist for me to revisit whenever I desire.

And now, taking stock of my own writing, specifically my hicsqueak The Proposal fic, it occurs to me that the date I last updated it is significant. March 8, 2020. I stopped publishing the week before the world (or at least my small section of it) shutdown. I was teaching a college-level creative writing course at the time, and little did I know that after that week, I would never see my students in person again.

My world changed. Everyone's world changed. And I tucked the fic into a drawer, unable to look at it. I've revisited many times over the last year and a half, and even got donation-commissions to update it by several people (for my failure to do so, I am very very sorry). There was something about that fic that represented "before" for me. The Proposal was "before" everything fell apart. The Proposal was "before" I was separated from my students. The Proposal was "before" I was excessed and lost my teaching job. The Proposal was before I spent every day worrying about my extended family and friends falling ill with a virus I didn't understand. The Proposal was before I lost all faith in humanity, with people refusing to wear masks and get a vaccine simply because they didn't want to.

Before the pandemic, I truly believed that if a global crisis happened, people would go out of their way to help each other. I believed protecting our grandparents and the immunocompromised would be more important to people than the personal discomfort of wearing a mask, social distancing, and getting a vaccine to help protect yourself and others. I suppose you could say that over the last year and a half, I became completely disillusioned. I hated my neighbors more than I loved them. Huge rifts formed between family and friends over covid safety. My country saw the first NON-peaceful transfer of power in our nation's history. The Black Lives Matter movement made the nation confront centuries-long injustices that we still haven't been rectified or resolved.

The world came to a boiling point, and I thought, "surely, this can't last? surely, things will get better?"

They haven't.

It might sound silly, but for a year and a half, the failure to update this fic has been a major source of sadness and frustration for me, and I feel that it's very much related to having my faith in humanity completely ripped out from under me. The fic represents a part of my life I feel like I will never be able to return to.

And yet, here I am, sitting in the midst of a tropical storm, desperately wanting to return to my story, and crying over it rather than making any progress.

I don't know why I'm sharing this. But the news of Jill Murphy's death has triggered a lot of emotions I don't know what to do with. I'm sorry for rambling, but maybe someone will read this and understand.

[jypbae7]

Could you do a breakdown natal chart for Kun from Wayv?

QIAN KUN - NATAL CHART

Kun was one the most requested I got which was a pleasant surprise!!❤️❤️

(Not claiming to be an expert this is just for fun please don’t take anything too seriously!) Hope this is helpful and that you enjoy it 🥰❤️

Personality: Capricorn Sun, Leo Rising, Taurus Moon, Capricorn Mercury, Capricorn Mars

Clearly a LOT of Earth sign placements but nicely broken up by the fire sign rising

Capricorn Sun has serious and long term plans for the kind of future they want for themselves and once they set out for it they seldom give up. Stubborn to a fault, but also consistent enough to actually persevere. They want the perfect job, reputation, partner, house, family, etc.

Leo rising is a bright, warm and outgoing personality. Lots of energy, creativity and flair. They enjoy having a strong core of friends that they feel understand and enhance their experience and effect on the world. Leo’s are known for being hardworking and as a fixed sign it offers a lot of consistency and determination. They are extremely devoted and loyal once they develop a bond and trust with someone. Though the passion can fizzle out quickly if they aren’t feeling the kind of attention and passion they want.

Taurus Moon is a very grounded person with more social charisma and approachability than Capricorns are known for. They also have a tendency to like bold styles, they have big dreams and goals and you’ll be surprised at how well they can attain them if they’re focused enough (Kun is a Capricorn Stellium so yes this boy KNOWS how to get shit done when it needs to be done) Taurus is also a fixed sign which along with the stubbornness everyone knows about also comes with patience and consistency making them really good leaders when added with their natural friendliness and perseverance

Capricorn Mercury indicates a strong preference for structure, somebody who tends to follow rules and feels uncomfortable breaking them. They tend to have authoritative energy and demeanor. Big ambitions and determination to succeed and excel in their chosen career. Spend more time thinking than they show with a generally very logical mind which can sometimes lead to a black & white perspective

Capricorn Mars - responsible, organized, secretly a thrill seeker, can come off as aloof or guarded when they are around new people or people who they really want to make a good impression on.

Relationships:

Non-Romantic Relationships: Capricorn Sun, Taurus Moon, Leo Rising, Capricorn Mercury, Capricorn Mars

Trustworthy and dependable - the “dad” of the friend group who everyone calls when they have something serious to deal with

Platonic love languages: acts of service and quality time - he loves spending time with people with shared interests especially music. Also loves going out to different places such as different trendy cafes, movie theaters, museums - you name it.

Likes other thrill seekers who push and motivate him to get out of his comfort zone

Sense of humor is a lot more childlike and playful than one would expect from his serious and strict side

Capricorn energy is NOT to be crossed or messed with. These are the ones who are calm af and calculated when angry - this is when you know you are screwed. When Capricorn is calm and collected while enraged, ohhh boy, do they figure out ways to hurt you in the smoothest and most effective ways without so much as lifting their finger. Spare yourself the trauma and DO NOT LIE to him no matter what.

Romantic relationships and preferences : Aquarius Venus, Capricorn Mars, Capricorn Juno, Aries Eros

Aquarius Venus is outgoing, friendly and charismatic. They are attracted to interesting and unique people who stand out of the crowd. They like bold and spontaneous gestures and they will do them back for their partner as well.

Aquarians also dislike overly clingy/needy partners which Capricorn also isn’t a fan of either. These signs are all about independence, individuality, personal expression and achievement. Meaning that while they do yearn for a partner (especially Capricorn placements) they want a partner who is self sufficient and independent with their own hobbies, careers, dreams, goals, etc.

Capricorn Juno implies they’ll be a tough to nail down for very long because Capricorn wants only the best of everything and they’re always busy trying to excel at things and scoping out their options. So you’ll have to prove your worth to them before they are willing to commit because once they do it’s for the long haul

Capricorn likes natural ethereal beauty while Aquarius likes the bold - my guess is healthy mix of both. Natural looking and soft featured with some bold/unique traits like bright/bold hair or fashion style, a bit of spice/sass here and there is another secret pleasure

Be prepared for endless serenades and songs made and sent to you like love letters - whether he’s singing or composing a warm ethereal instrumental for you, his whole heart is in it

Love languages (most to least) - words of affirmation, gift giving, physical touch and quality time

Words of affirmation makes him feel really wanted and needed, he’s also really really good at giving it out to people he loves so if he’s doing it one sidedly it would hurt him and make him feel insecure.

Gives either unbelievably beautiful luxe gifts or unique/fun gifts and loves to surprise his partner with them often especially after time apart

Capricorns HATE wasting time they are hyper aware of how many hours in a day and how much can be done in a day. So, if he’s spending a lot of time with you, you’re very very special and important to him and he prioritizes this time very highly

Star gazing dates, beach dates, camping trips - this man will go out of his way to make sure every date is an experience. He is PREPARED, he has an itinerary in his mind, he’s looked up the travel routes and picked the best one. When you go camping he will FLEX with his efficiency and ability to handle the labor heavy tasks. This man will purposely wait till you’re looking to start chopping wood (not that ANYONE is complaining), put the tent up and have it filled with blankets and pillows galore in 2.00034 seconds because he practiced in the dorm living room with the others like a drill routine. (Lucas taught him how to chop the wood & still look hot while doing it)

Is the MOST polite and endearing person to your family and friends. Goes above and beyond to be the perfect partner around your family and they are unable not to LOVE him. Is especially soft and doting of any children or elderly relatives. And none of it is phony at all, he doesn’t know anyway else to even think. Respect, manners, and family are extremely important to Earth signs. They’ll probably end up liking him more than you but honestly you can’t even blame them

(None of y’all ungrateful people better ever slack on Zaddy Kun’s visuals ever again!! If I don’t get to see his happy trail during 2021 I’m burning the SM building down once and for all)

18+ Preferences:

Aries Eros ooof - passionate, possessive and steamy. Pick their partners off instinct and energy - once they really like you they become infatuated and want to STAY that way. If it’s not the “I need you so fucking bad I’m gonna lose my mind” type of love they DON’T want it.

Leo Rising is a possessive as fuck placement thankfully when they get riled up or jealous they have the confidence not to get angry with you or insecure about it. BUT.... you‘ll still be awakening a whole new type of beast and quite frankly he will let you know that it’s all your fault as he holds you down and uses you like the stupid toy you are till you remember who you belong to

If he sees you doing anything even remotely domestic his Taurus Moon and Capricorn Juno will have his mind go from soft and warm thoughts to bending you over the kitchen counter and taking you right there without a care or second thought spared

Positions where he feels in in control are his favorite - he likes being on top of you, behind you and if he can pick you up and carry you while ramming into you best believe he will.

His favorite is position is missionary - likes to feel big and dominant he also wants to be able to see as much of you as possible and kissing you as much as possible from your lips to just about anywhere else he can reach. Will be staring at you 99% of the time with big smoldering eyes that don’t waver in the slightest. In fact if you give him eye contact back he’ll just be even more turned on

Now...this might be controversial but... Capricorn Mars usually suggests power play/dynamic kink - think rich powerful CEO who secretly fantasizes about being tied up and blindfolded. Not to say that is exclusively his main kink bc it’s definitely not, he is 100% mostly dom BUT with the right person he’d be more than willing and very excited to try it out - probably because they are always in control so it’s an adrenaline rush for them to relinquish it to someone else. Doesn’t necessarily mean an extreme level of being submissive even just simple restraints can feel very extreme for a bossy and in-control Capricorn

Aquarius Venus also likes breaking relationship “norms” and trying out new things. They are super fun and bright when happy so when he’s in love he’s in LOVE. Wants to sing about it 24/7 but is too stubborn to be clingy or needy. The type to smile during sex, especially when he’s on top of you or drunk. Don’t even get me started on drunk handsy Kun whining in your ear about how he just wants to sneak out of the party early.....bc I will genuinely never recover

Very vocal in the bedroom - gives his partner tons of praise. Completely loses his mind and is loud af when you kiss your way from his neck down to below the hips

Most of the time sex with him is more passionate than kinky, not lightening fast jack rabbit thrusts instead hard and deep rhythmic ones that make your whole body shake - Hungry makeout sessions, sneaky little hickeys where no one else will see, massages than turn into hours of love making, takes his time to hit deep and hard inside you, handfuls of your hair, gaspy whispers

When he is feeling more kinky it’s usually spur of the moment. In the car in the middle of a rainy night during a cancelled schedule or after an especially steamy date night where he decides to take you to a hotel afterwards

KING OF AFTER CARE (NOT up for debate) - cooks you an amazing meal afterwords or orders up a feast if he’s too spent to get up too, cuddled up in blankets watching a movie for the rest of the night afterwards.

[bookofmirth]

I haven't read ACOSF yet, and tbh I'm rather rusty with the characters but it was really interesting to read your opinion on Elain! I feel there's a lot of complexity to her. And how she presents herself as well because as you said we literally have no chapters from hers or Lucien's POV and I think that's the important point to note because right now we're all just guessing and assuming her to be like Feyre, but she's not. People deal/show their traumas in different way and l think people expect Elain to deal with it as Feyre did. But, Feyres trauma and Elains are very different!

I don't really know what I'm saying. But I read your answer and it made me go 'oh... Huh!' in a good way, it sparked my curiosity! So thank you! But I think Elain perhaps is the most complex person with their trauma. I know people say 'oh Nesta is so different' but (I specialised in drama therapy so I love psycho analysis) and what Nesta did is self destructive to prevent relationships to avoid hurt or more emotions that she doesn't want to acknowledge (in my opinion!)

Elain just shuts down. She doesn't drink, she doesn't screw, she just remains in her garden which in itself says a lot! That's a very grounding way to handle trauma and not a lot of people are aware of that side!

So yeah I don't know what I'm saying but I think it's a really interesting discussion!

I have so many thoughts about Elain! This took me a few days to get to because i knew I had a crapton of thoughts. So this is basically me using this ask to explain the way I see Elain post-acosf!

There are three important scenes in acosf off the top of my head: when Elain talks with Nesta and they fight, and then with Nesta and Feyre and she gets mad and leaves, and then Feyre and Rhys talk about her in their chapter. We’re getting a lot more information about her, and for me, it wasn’t so much about who she is, but why we don’t know who she is.

So far, what we’ve had is Feyre’s and Nesta’s POV. Even when Feyre and Lucien tried to help her in acowar, they were unable. So we’ve never had anything about Elain from someone who didn’t grow up with her and experience the same trauma (such as becoming destitute, their mother’s death, their father being beaten, the Cauldron, etc.)

The sisters do handle it very, very differently. And I think that at this point the fandom consensus is that Elain runs away from her problems, but I actually disagree, and partly because of what you mentioned - that she isn’t using those self-harming, destructive coping mechanisms. Nesta was avoiding her problems, hardcore. It’s absolutely possible that Elain avoids things, but I don’t think that she just runs from all of her problems because:

Elain grieves her father. Openly. She tries to accept the fact that it wasn’t her fault and that she couldn’t do anything about it. (See: her going to his grave in acofas, her first talk with Nesta in acosf.) Elain does not run from her grief, she doesn’t pretend it doesn’t exist, and she doesn’t hide it from others. As one of the most defining events we’ve seen her go through in the series, that’s a pretty big deal.

Elain does not cling to unhealthy coping mechanisms. There could be ways that she does this that we are unaware of. She does seem like the type who would be really, really good at making people think she’s okay, all while she’s silently imploding. But we don’t know that yet?

Elain does not isolate herself. 

However, Elain definitely needs to deal with some stuff! She definitely needs to deal with Lucien, and she needs to have an actual talk with Nesta because I don’t remember a single satisfying resolution between those two in acosf. Not like Nesta had with Feyre. 

I have this idea that is purely based on Elain’s line in acosf:

“I went into the Cauldron, too, you know. And it captured me. And yet somehow, all you think of is what my trauma did to you.” (pg. 233)

And then Feyre tells Nesta that yes, Elain was right. 

This is so so so sossosososos important. I cannot emphasize it enough. Elain is used to putting on a fake, smiling face because she doesn’t want the weight of her sisters’ concern. She has been pretending to cope for so long - and tbf, she seems to have been doing better than Nesta - that people not only forget that she has suffered, but she doesn’t feel like she can even express that suffering.

Emotional labor often means negating one’s own feelings in order to acknowledge or tend to someone else’s. And that is Elain’s major role, in the series. Feyre has been caring for everyone’s physical wellbeing (hunting), while Elain’s role has been to care for everyone’s emotional wellbeing. But, like with most emotional labor, it has gone unnoticed.

I’ve made posts about emotional labor in the past (four years ago!!!!) but I’m gonna spare you the link because a lot of it was about a ship that’s no longer a ship, so here is the relevant content:

What I am talking about is the regulation of emotion - any time that you give comfort, are especially attentive to someone’s needs, stop thinking about how you feel in order to focus on how someone else feels, try to cheer someone up, make sure that they are taking care of themselves, try to allay their insecurities, etc. Basically, helping them with any sort of emotional distress.

You know those posts you’ve seen, about women protecting men’s egos constantly? Or about making time for self-care? Or about recognizing toxic relationships? That tell you “if X is being demanded of you in a relationship, get out”? Those are ALL about emotional labor, broadly speaking. They are warning you not to do more than you can handle, more than you need to do, because it can be harmful to you.

If you have ever been expected to make a person or people feel better any time you are around each other (including when they are angry, upset, anxious, ill, frustrated, insecure, etc.), you have performed emotional labor. Pretty much everyone has done this at some point, unless you are a completely insensitive jerk.

Notice, though, that I said expected to and any time you are around them – this is where the problem comes in for YOU. This is not about just being there for a friend.

Making loved ones feel better is fantastic. Seeing people be polite and kind to one another makes my heart shine. That is not a problem in and of itself. That can be seen as emotional labor, but there are no requirements on you in those circumstances. This is something you are doing of your own free will.

The problem, again, is when this is expected, constantly, over time. Now, in my experience, the expectation is not necessarily coming from the other person. One of the problems with this type of labor is that not only do others expect women to perform these tasks, but women expect it of themselves.

It’s super easy to see this – who is expected to take care of a child when they fall? Who is expected to baby-sit? Who did you want when you were sick as a child, mom or dad? Who is expected to be sensitive and pay attention to others’ emotions?

For more info on this idea specifically, read Of Woman Born by Adrienne Rich. As a woman, I realized how much work I had been performing and how much it was harming me and I just… got real upset. She comes at this mostly from what a woman’s role is expected to be within the family, and might actually be a bit outdated in that respect because I feel like family structures and dynamics are shifting (that is a totally un-academic evaluation of the situation, don’t quote me on that), but still, it’s really informative.

While I was doing some research for this post I came across a peer-reviewed article about nursing and basically, high amounts of emotional labor led to anxiety and burn-out in those performing it. It literally will cost your mental health – not to mention your time, energy, attention, and it often requires you to ignore your own needs (this last part came from me, not the article). On the other hand, high levels of emotional intelligence (being able to recognize your own and others’ emotional states) meant less emotional labor (and therefore less anxiety & burn-out). One of the most important things to realize is that while you are taking care of someone else’s emotional needs, your own are frequently unmet. That is why it’s important to recognize this in yourself, not just in these characters.

So where does Elain fit in? Elain is the #1 emotional labor provider of the family, and she is about to freaking SNAP. I know, because once I realized how my trauma was hidden in order to spare someone else its consequences, I fucking SNAPPEd. I’ll also spare you the personal details, but Elain hasn’t been “okay”. She hasn’t been “boring”, or “nice”, or “chosen” Feyre over Nesta. She has literally been unable to express herself because (and I am NOT blaming Nesta or Feyre or her father one bit) her family’s emotional state has been so fragile, there hasn’t been room for Elain to feel or express her emotions in years. 

In the feysand short, Rhys says:

I wonder if everyone has spent so long assuming Elain is sweet and innocent that she felt she had to be that way or else she’d disappoint you all.

And that completely tracks. Everyone has gotten used to Elain being not just “nice”, but being the emotionally predictable one. The one they know they can go to for a smile. The one they can count on for never, ever making them realize that she has been through Some Shit Too. And being that person is exhausting.

When Feyre thinks about Elain not using Lucien’s gloves, 1) she still has them, otherwise she couldn’t think about Elain not using them, and 2) I like to see the gloves as something that she will come to use, once she realizes that she can feel and express those emotions without it causing a breakdown in the family. Right now, she just wants to feel. And she can’t do that emotionally, so she’s doing it physically. Once she heals and finds a better balance, she won’t need to resort to physical pain. (Which, lowkey has me thinking some other thoughts, but.... maybe later.) But anyway, once Elain does go through her very own special journey, I fully expect her to welcome those gloves. She won’t need physical pain to feel anymore.

Not to mention my completely unacademic and non-professional opinion that people will judge a nice women harshly for being rude once, but accept a woman with a history of rudeness for just “being that way”. It’s another way that Elain may feel trapped in her “nice girl” persona. I think she started out that way - kindness and light and generosity is 100% in Elain’s character in the first place. It’s not as if she went into the Court of Nightmares and suddenly Cassian thought, “wait, she fits right in to this shithole of depravity”. No, he still thought the literal opposite. It’s just that once people get used to you doing all their emotional labor, they will continue to take advantage of it, even if they don’t realize its cost.

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

What Fun! The Apocalypse (PART 6)

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: my already poor health has been particularly bad and I lost a few thousands brain cells so probably this part could have been better. But I kind of like it as it is. I could, too, have been less cruel to Wilhemina, but I hate stories that are like, “it took exactly 2 seconds and a half for this character to overcome their trauma welcome to rainbow land”. This part may be the last part, or I may write more, idk yet. Thank you for your kind feeback and thank your for reading, lovelies. x

PART 1 // PART 2 // PART 3 // PART 4  // PART 5

Word count: ~ 7 000

Warnings: physical violence, self-harm (kind of?), ongoing battle btw me and English prepositions

You awoke, opened your eyes, and remembered. Today was the Apocalypse.

Everyone from Kineros Robotics who had been chosen to survive gathered in the lunch room at 8am, and waited there to board their respective planes. Most of the outposts were a long flight from California, so you and Wilhemina were to leave the place last. You had packed a small suitcase with a few of your belongings, objects you could not get rid of. You ignored the disapproving glare from Wilhemina. She was flying with nothing but her cane and a stock of painkillers for her back.

Wilhemina scanned the faces in the room. Everyone here was a longtime employee at Kineros, deemed worthy and clever enough to build and rule a new world. Pathetic, all of them. Wilhemina tapped her cane threateningly on the floor as a tall woman walked past her too close for comfort; the woman turned her head at the sound, slowly ran her eyes down and up Wilhemina’s figure, and smiled condescendingly.

Eyes were Wilhemina’s least favourite part of the human face. They were dull, and only reflected the stupidity of the brain. Eyes had stared at her and sneered and derided. Eyes had crinkled with mocking laughter and narrowed with disgust or judgment. They pried and pitied and wondered as they wonder at rare, exotic zoo animals. Other people’s eyes were only acceptable (safe) when lowered in fear or respect.  

But your eyes were different. Your eyes were kind. They were loving and caring. She could get lost in them and know she was safe.

The plane to Outpost 4 departed at 10am. The one to Outpost 2 departed at 10:30. By noon, Wilhemina and you were the only one left in the room. The mysterious Ms Mead had driven to Outpost 3 the day before, to make sure everything was ready. Wilhemina had met her and decided she was trustworthy. A robot. Her mind programmed to obey her. Her heart had jumped with excitement at the thought.

The plane to Outpost 3 was to leave at exactly 2:40pm, five minutes before a ballistic missile would hit the nearest city. At 2:20 you jumped down from the table you were sitting on and ran to the nearest bathroom. An employee, who was to stay and die and did not even have the slightest idea of what was about to happen, walked past the lunch room and shot Wilhemina a curious glance. She gave him her coldest, most condescending smile in return. Another man walked past, quickly and with his shoulders bent. Wilhemina caught a glimpse of his face. Her heart did something weird in her chest.

Now, that was simply impossible, her brain told her. His plane had left hours ago. Her eyes had tricked her mind, excitement and anticipation made her see things that were not real.

You hurried back into the room, your hands fidgeting anxiously, completely unable to stand still. “Let’s go,” you said quickly, “let’s go board our plane.”

“Wait,” Wilhemina said without thinking.

You stopped in front of her.

“Wilhemina it’s 2:25 we have to –“

Here it was again, the impossible shape, hovering on one side of the door. Something in Wilhemina’s mind whispered a warning. Her eyes shifted to your face. Protect her, urged the whisper.  

“I forgot an important file on my desk,” Wilhemina lied in a very calm voice.

“Are you kidding me?!” you exclaimed.

The shape moved and disappeared.

“It has all the names and information on the people who will stay with us at the outpost,” Wilhemina went on. “Go and get it. You walk faster than I do.”

“For God’s sake you must be kidding me,” you growled.  

“Go,” she ordered you. “You’re wasting time.”

You scowled at her, but stormed out of the room. She listened as your footsteps faded away. Then she straightened up, pulling her shoulders back, and her right hand clenched around the knob of her cane.

“Hello, hunchback.

Rory leaned against the door, his arms folded across his chest, a stupid smirk plastered on his face. Anger rose in Wilhemina’s throat.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” she snapped.

Rory’s smirk widened and he started walking towards her.

“Thought I should come and say hi. Long time no see. Honestly, I’m surprised you remember me. You didn’t seem to care much about my person last time we talked.”  He stopped a few inches away from Wilhemina, looking down on her, his eyes full of a triumphant, predatory light. “Last time we talked,” he repeated slowly in his drawling voice, “and you so rudely fired me. Now, I think that surely you have regrets. I think that surely you regret treating me so badly.” He raised a hand to caress her cheek, but she slapped it away.

“Don’t you dare touch me,” Wilhemina hissed.

He was too close, so close she could feel the heat emanating from his body, but she would be damned before she took a step back.

“Now, that’s not how one expresses regret,” Rory said.

Without warning, he kicked her cane over and sent it rolling on the floor and under a table. Wilhemina stumbled, regained her balance with a wince.

Rory grabbed her arm and leaned in. “Tell me,” he whispered in her ear, “can you bend low enough to blow me or will I have to break your back?”

“Go to Hell,” Wilhemina hissed, and spat on his face.

Rory’s knee came up and slammed into her stomach. Wilhemina crumpled to the floor, winded, and let out a cry as Rory kicked her side.

“Good news, hunchback!” he cried excitedly. “It’s the fucking Apocalypse! D’you know what it means?” Another kick. “It means –“ another kick, “there’ll be no police –“ another kick, “which means I can do whatever the fuck –“  another kick, ”I want to you.”

Wilhemina let him hit her. She had no way of fighting back, and even if she had, she wasn’t sure she would have. Every kick awakened the sneering voice in her head that reminded her just how monstrous her body was. How it was only fair she should hurt. How she deserved the pain he was causing her, and so much more of it. The pain she was feeling was the pain she had wanted to inflict on herself for so long, a punishment for being such a hideous, such a deformed monstrosity and now she could feel joy, there was joy in her heart and she was laughing –

“What the hell?!” came a voice, loud and angry and threatening like the growl of a storm. Rory’s kicking stopped and Wilhemina almost raised her head to beg him to continue, not to stop until he’d broken every single rotten bone.

“What. The. Fucking hell Rory!” you roared, flinging yourself at him and slapping him violently in the face. “How dare you, you fucking fuck!”

Rory stumbled away from you, his hand covering his cheek where you had hit him, too stunned to speak. His back touched the wall.

“Get out!” you roared. “Get out or I swear to God I’ll kill you.”

You watched him scurry away, then you ran to where Wilhemina lay curled up on the floor.

Laughing. She was laughing. Loud, painful laughs that shook her chest and tore their way out of her throat like shards of glass.

“Wilhemina? Oh God.” Your hands were shaking. “Oh God. Wilhemina, can you hear me?”

You grabbed her hand, but she jerked it free and moved it to cover her face. Her laughter still came out through her palm.

You stared at her, at a loss for what to do. Your heart was hammering in your ears but couldn’t drown out the terrible sound of her laughter. And above it all, like a red blaring light, rose a terrifying sense of urgency.

“Wilhemina,” you called, as bitter tears pooled in your eyes. This was all your fault. You had ignored Muff’s warning and put Wilhemina in danger because of your goddamn pride. You had thought you knew better than everyone else. Thought people were books, thought you could predict exactly how everyone would behave - thought that nothing harmful could come in the way of two people in love.

“Wilhemina, baby,” you pleaded through your tears, ”please, can you hear me?”

Hurry, hurry, hurry, blared the light in your head.

Something in your voice must have gotten to Wilhemina, for her laughter slowly died out. She nodded. You reached out for the hand that was covering her face, tentatively slipping your fingers between hers.

“Wilhemina, tell me where he hurt you? Can you stand up? Baby, I’m so sorry, we have to move, we have to catch that plane, we have to –“

Your voice broke. You dropped your head, sobbing out an “Oh God” as Wilhemina’s fingers tightened around yours.

She was already trying to sit up, wincing in pain and coughing out blood, so brave, so strong in the face of it all. You wrapped your arms around her waist and lifted her to her feet, and she cried out in pain.

“I’m so sorry baby,” you cried, over and over again, “I’m so sorry, we have to go, we have to catch that plane.”

She pointed to her cane and you hastily grabbed it, pressed it into her hand, slipped your arm higher up her waist to support her as you hobbled out of the lunch room and oh God, Wilhemina coughed out blood again. Tears and sweat rolled down her face as she pushed on, hurrying as fast as she could along too many corridors, the place endless, it was spreading endlessly everywhere and expanding by the second and you would never make it.  

Wilhemina’s knees buckled. She collapsed on the ground with a cry.

“Go,” she croaked between her teeth. “Just go.”

“Don’t be stupid,” you growled. You heaved her to her feet. “Lean on me, sweetie, just lean on me. I know you can do it.” You pressed a quick kiss on her cheek. “I’m not leaving you, you fool.”

A tiny part of you screamed in rebellion. Death terrified you. Run, screamed a frantic voice in your head, just run for your life, who cares about her you will both die. You shook your head violently, tightened your grip around Wilhemina. Uttered words of encouragement to her. Shut the fuck up, you barked at the voice in your head. The voice roared. You roared louder.

There was a loud, distant explosion. The walls shook all around you, and the lights flickered. Wilhemina groaned, but did not stop.  

You turned a corner, slammed your shoulder into a door and stumbled outside. There was something wrong with the light, a sick quality to it, it was too orange and too misty, but you barely paid attention to it, your eyes falling on the beautiful, shining small plane waiting for you just a few feet away. The pilot was standing in the narrow door, waving his arms at you and calling out.

“Come on, baby, almost there,” you growled, your heart beating madly in your chest.  Wilhemina’s arm spasmed. You gripped onto her tighter.

And then your brain took over. On auto-pilot you hobbled the short distance to the plane, half carried Wilhemina up the airstair, past the man as he hurriedly closed the door and shut out the light that was too orange, too misty, the light that was so hideously sick. You collapsed on the floor with Wilhemina in your arms, crying and laughing, and peppered her face with wet kisses. When you finally pulled away for air her face was very pale, blood drying on her lower lip and chin, but she offered you a small smile.

“You made it, honeybunch,” you panted, and burst into a laugh.  

**

The plane took off. You made Wilhemina lie down on a row of seats, then ran to the bathroom and dampened a hand towel. Your hands were shaking, your breathing was quick and shallow. Now that the exhilaration of victory and the rush of adrenaline were subsiding, something dark was settling in your chest like lead. You shook your head, scowled at your reflection in the mirror. Get a grip, you ordered yourself. Your eyes in the mirror were wide with fear and guilt.

Wilhemina had sat up while you were gone, but you made her lie down again and gently wiped the blood off her face with the wet towel. She was way too pale, her body too rigid, her jaw clenched tight against the pain. Your fault. Your goddamn fault for being such a fucking brag who thought she had some sort of superpower and could guess everything about everyone. You shook your head again, gulped back tears, and focused on Wilhemina.

“I don’t need this, Y/N,” Wilhemina said as you gently swiped the towel across her forehead - her voice was low and gravelly and her diction was weird, every word perfectly enunciated but coming out thick and heavy. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” you retorted, your voice breaking. “Wilhemina, let me – you’ve just been beaten up let me take care of –“

Your hand gently caressed her cheek; Wilhemina flinched, her neck tensing and curving away from you.

“I’m sorry,” you said, immediately withdrawing your hand. “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” she answered, almost a snap. It wasn’t fear that was vibrating through her, she wasn’t afraid of your touch, - it was something entirely different you couldn’t quite understand yet. She was glaring at the ceiling, her body incredibly tense, her eyes glassy and angry.

“Can I touch you?” you asked softly.

Wilhemina’s eyes briefly shifted to you, then back to the ceiling. One of her arms wrapped around her stomach and squeezed, hard.

“I need to make sure you’re not bleeding anywhere,” you explained.

“I’m not bleeding.”

“Where does it hurt the most? Wilhemina if there’s any wound we need to make sure and clean it bef –“

“There’s no wound,” she snapped. “A few bruises at worst.”

You paused, swallowing down your fear.

“Alright,” you said, raising both hands in the air – they were visibly shaking, so you quickly lowered them -, “alright. Just let me get you some water.”

She was still glaring at the ceiling when you came back, but you weren’t sure she was seeing it. Her eyes were burning with a kind of anger that had something terribly sad about it, something that made your heart ache for her. You unscrewed the bottle of water and offered it to her.

She took exactly one sip and handed the bottle back to you.

“Stop being so stubborn,” you said. “Drink some more –“

“I am being stubborn? Stop acting so stupid.“

“I’m not stupid, I’m worried about you.“

Automatically your hand landed on her ankle and your thumb stroked her skin. Again, she flinched, and her leg gave a kick.

“Stop it!” she snapped, her voice too high, her eyes meeting yours, desperate and angry, as her arm squeezed harder still around her stomach, her elbow digging into her ribs. “Leave me alone! I don’t deserve –”

She cut herself off, her jaw twitching once, her face hard and cold, that terrible, terrible feeling in her eyes expanding and expanding until it submerged her whole body. Her head fell back on the seat and her nails dug into her arm.

“You don’t deserve what, Mina?” you asked. Your throat closed up.

She had been laughing, when you had found her. Rory was kicking her with a crazed look on his face and she had been laughing.

“Talk to me,” you pleaded, your voice too thin.

“Why would I want to talk to you?” she snapped contemptuously, her voice laced with poison, but you could see right through her act.

This was an attempt to make you leave, because she could not stand tenderness and care right now. Every fiber in her body was rebelling against love and crying out for pain. She needed to open the gates and let the self-loathing engulf her, for she couldn’t win against it - as one has to dive headfirst into a wave that is so high and so terrifying and cannot be avoided. Sometimes, the only way out is through.    

“Alright,” your voice wavered, “alright, I’ll just sit here next to you, ok? I’m here if you need me.”

It was torture. Staying still as she hurt, and hurt herself, as you waited for her to come back to you, as the whole plane filled up with her pain and anger and it was a miracle it could still fly. You made small talk with her, anything to try and distract her. Your voice wavered again, three, four times. You had lowered the blind on the window nearest you to block out the sick orange light. Wilhemina kept glaring unseeingly at the ceiling. You talked, and talked, and talked, trying to drown out the sound of her loathing that you could hear like the scraping of stormy waves on a shingle beach. And on top of it all was that gnawing feeling of guilt. For you had caused this. Stupid, stupid you, blinded by your own pride.

Slowly, Wilhemina’s body started to relax. Her nails withdrew from her arm. You tentatively offered her the bottle of water again. She scowled at you, but she took the bottle and drank half of it.

The pilot’s voice came out through the intercom, telling you to prepare for landing.

Wilhemina sat up with a wince and fastened her seatbelt. She smoothed her hair and her clothes. You glanced at her, blinking back tears, your mouth too dry.

“Are you ok?” you asked. It was a stupid question, but it flew out of your mouth desperate and urgent before you could stop it.

Her eyes met yours, dark and completely unreadable.

“Of course,” she said.

A tear rolled down your cheek. You wiped it with the back of your hand, nodded.

“I want to address everyone at the Outpost as soon as we arrive,” Wilhemina went on.

You sniffed, offered her a broken smile.

“Ok.”

“They need to be perfectly apprised of the house rules.”

“Alright, you’re right.”

Another tear rolled down your cheek, which you quickly swiped away.

“Please don’t cry,” came Wilhemina’s voice.

“I - sorry,” you said quickly, wiping yet another tear. “I don’t know why I’m crying.”

As if your heart wasn’t breaking for her, as if you could ever forget the look in her eyes as she lay still with her nails digging deep into her skin.

There was a short pause, and then Wilhemina took your hand.

“I love you,” she said, as one says ‘it’s okay, I’ll be okay’.

You tried to offer her a smile, but it looked like a grimace, your mouth twisting as if it were full of shards of glass. You squeezed her hand, then raised it to your lips and pressed a long kiss on one of her knuckles.

“I love you, too,” you said, your voice shaking. You breathed in to add “I’m so sorry”, but breathed out wordlessly.

You squeezed Wilhemina’s hand again, swallowing down your guilt. You couldn’t bother her with it now that she was about to take on responsibility for the survival of the human race; you had to be a strong rock she could lean on, not a burden.

You sat on the seat next to Wilhemina’s and fastened your seat belt. Wilhemina raised the blind to peer outside. You turned your head away.

The plane landed, and the pilot came out of the cockpit. He was a tall, stout man with a kind face. You reached out to help Wilhemina get up her seat but she refused your help, shooting you a glance of warning. She stood up straight and proud without so much as a wince of pain, and walked up to the pilot.

He gave Wilhemina a smile and extended his right hand as if to shake to hers. He wore a thin, gold ring on his middle finger that looked very expensive.

“You’ll have to take that off,” Wilhemina said sternly. “Greys are not allowed to wear jewelry.”

“What are Greys?” you and the pilot asked at the exact same time. Wilhemina had not told you anything about the rules at Oupost 3. You had asked, more than once, but she had never answered you, and pretended not to hear you after the third or fourth time.

Wilhemina winked at you. “Our worker hands. “ She glared at the pilot, nodding in your direction. “Your job will be to serve her and the rest of the elite.”

The kindness faded from the pilot’s face.

“I’m not sure I like that,” he muttered.

Wilhemina’s cane tapped on the floor.

“Are you stupid?” she said, in a very slow, threatening voice. “You’re alive. Look around you. The world is no longer. Tell me, what exactly have you done to deserve surviving it?”

“I flew you here, lady,” the pilot grumbled. “You’d be dead without me.”

Wilhemina’s cane tapped on the floor again, louder.

“I’m making the rules here. You can either know your place and follow them, or take your chances, alone, in the nuclear winter.”

The pilot glanced desperately at you. You almost defended him. Part of you wasn’t sure this whole Grey thing was fair. But you could hardly imagine the devastating consequences of your challenging Wilhemina now, when she was finally in a position of power, when she trusted you to back her up. You had hurt her enough for the day.

“You better listen to her,” you said, forcing your voice to sound commanding. The colour drained from the man’s face.

You followed Wilhemina out of the plane – a thick fog was slowly swallowing the world, replacing the sick orange light with a pale grey that looked sicker somehow – and into the outpost. The place was no longer lit by electrical light but by hundreds of candles and every fireplace was alive with huge, crackling fires. You kept your eyes on Wilhemina, alert for signs of pain. There wasn’t any. As you passed a fireplace, the warmth from the fire briefly engulfed you, an unhoped-for comfort, a temporary balm to your heart.

Wilhemina turned left, and suddenly stopped. A small, stout woman with cropped black hair stood in the corridor, her hands crossed in front of her, her eyes two piercing lights ringed with black make-up. She bowed her head respectfully as she saw Wilhemina. Unconsciously you straightened your shoulders. A feeling, not exactly of authority, but of ruthless order oozed out from this woman. If you had to invent her a past, you would say quite confidently that she had spent years in the army as a high-ranked commanding officer.

Wilhemina introduced her as Ms Mead. The woman’s eyes slid to your face and she bowed her head to you, too, a quick, mechanical bending of the neck. She informed Wilhemina everything had been made ready as requested.

“It is so refreshing to work with someone who knows how to take orders and how to be efficient,” Wilhemina told her with an appreciative smile. She gestured towards the nearest door, a bathroom. “I’ll be a minute.”

Tap, tap, tap, went her cane, a cold, sharp sound; in the candlelight her hair was a deep red.

The bathroom door closed behind her. You counted five seconds before you turned to Ms Mead.

“Where’s the doctor?” you whispered urgently. You knew a doctor had been sent to every outpost, to make sure the survivors stayed safe and healthy.

Ms Mead shot you a glance that expressed absolutely nothing.

“Not here,” she answered in a robotic, toneless voice.

“What do you mean, not here?” you insisted, tiny sparks of fear flying up into your chest. Your throat tightened.

“He was supposed to arrive at 3, but he never did.” Ms Mead shrugged. “I guess we’ll have to do without him.”

More sparks, too many sparks. You almost screamed at her.

“My best guess is,” Ms Mead went on, entirely unaware of the frantic storm rising in you, “he decided to stay behind with his family. To die a useless death among his loved ones instead of taking on the honorable duty of caring for the survivors.”

“Some people are incredibly selfish,” came Wilhemina’s voice.

You jumped, turning around sharply as Wilhemina’s proud figure loomed up on your left side. “Ms Mead, gather everyone in the music room,” she ordered. “We’ll join them shortly.”

Ms Mead nodded and walked off. You glanced up nervously at Wilhemina.

“For the hundredth time, Y/N, I’m fine,” Wilhemina scolded.

You glanced up at her, scanned her face for any trace of pain, but it was completely blank. You glanced down at her hands. They rested on top of each other on the knob of her cane.

You glanced up at her face again. You figured she had no broken ribs, since she could move, and she was breathing just fine so probably nothing had damaged or punctured her lungs, but what if she were hemorrhaging, or what if she had broken something and was being very good at hiding it? That seemed to you very likely.

“Y/N?”

“What?” Your voice shot out too nervous, too aggressive.

Wilhemina’s face hardened. Tap, threatened her cane.

“We have no doctor,” you started. Your throat was so tight with fear it was a miracle your voice could get through.

“So I heard.”

“Wilhemina, someone needs to make sure you’re okay. And what will we do without a doctor? Oh God, Mina, and what about your back and what if –“

“None of that,” Wilhemina cut you off sharply. “Y/N, you need to calm down. I am fine.” She paused. When she spoke again, her voice was softer. “We survived the Apocalypse, Y/N. Now I need you to calm down, get a grip on yourself, and go and join the others in the music room. “

You closed your eyes, forced yourself to take a few deep breaths. I’m sorry, said your heart to hers, praying, praying it would hear, I’m so sorry.  

You walked into the music room in a haze, barely registering the hum of worried voices and the few “Hello”s that were thrown your way. You collapsed on an armchair in a corner and buried your face in your hands. Tried to focus on your breathing. Images and sounds flashed in your mind; Wilhemina’s laugh as Rory kicked her, that terrible look in her eyes, her nails digging into her skin. Your eyes flew open as one wakes from a nightmare.

A young, fashionable man wearing sunglasses with purple-tinted lenses was staring at you. He didn’t look particularly worried, just interested.

“Are you alright, dear?” he asked in a mellow voice.

“Never better,” you growled.

“Aw,” the man said, “I know how it feels. I was supposed to fucking die in L.A.. It’s a stroke of luck I’m here, a stroke of luck. That, and my friend Coco’s crocodile wallet.” The man sat down on a chair next to you. His musky, minty perfume tickled your nose – it was so out-of-place, this smell, reminded you of lavishness and exuberance and self-confidence. If Outpost 3 had a smell, it would be that of the smoke of a candle that has just fizzled out.

The man, who introduced himself as a hairdresser, kept on talking, but you stopped listening. Your eyes scanned the people in the room, one face after the other, features blurring into each other, your brain unable to register details and to make observations. Your hands were sweaty. Your eyes fell on the familiar face of the pilot. Before you knew it you had abruptly stood up and walked to him, the hairdresser’s mouth falling open in consternation, his eyes glaring at your back through his purple-tinted sunglasses.

“Hey,” you said to the pilot. He had watched you approach with weary eyes, his lips a thin, tight, angry line. He acknowledged your presence with a stiff nod. “I wanted to thank you,” you went on, forcing your mouth into a smile. “For waiting for us. You didn’t have to.”

The pilot pursed his lips. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have,” he grumbled, but there was no hostility in his voice. His fingers started playing with a loose thread on his coat. “I guess I’m just too kind for my own good.”

“Um,” you pretended to consider his words. “I think the world would have fared better if there had been more kind people in it. You know, people who take the trouble to wait those extra five minutes to help others, instead of running for their lives.” You tried for another smile, and this time it came more easily.

The pilot glanced up at you suspiciously, but the kindness was returning to his face. “What’s going to happen, now?” he asked after a pause.

“I don’t really know.”

“The man who boarded the plane just before you did said such improper, rude things about the redhead, and even though she didn’t give me any reason to like her, I don’t think folks should –“

“Excuse me,” you cut the pilot off, your heart suddenly freezing in your chest, “what man?”

“Young fellow, the one sitting over there. He appeared out of nowhere saying he’d missed his transportation to Outpost 2 and he begged me to let him in, I couldn’t just leave him to his death.”

There was not a single drop of blood left in your veins. Your heart was steadily pumping ice, biting, burning ice that froze every thought and every emotion in your brain except anger – and the anger spread. It spread everywhere, sprang from your body and crashed against the ceiling and the walls where it crystallized into sharp, fang-like icicles.

Rory had not seen you yet. He was comforting a crying young woman when you reached him, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and half jerked him up on his feet. His eyes met yours in surprise as you growled into his face, “Boarding this plane was the worst mistake you ever made.” Rory tried to draw away but you tightened your grip on him and leaned in closer still, your breath ghosting his lips. “I swear to God, Rory, I’m going to turn your pathetic life into a nightmare and there will be blood.”

A loud tap cut you off. Both Rory and you jumped. Wilhemina had just entered the room, standing proud and dominating, her complexion warm in the candlelight, her eyes very dark. She had changed into a black Victorian-esque dress that brushed regally over the floor, with a high collar of intricate white lacework hugging her graceful, long neck. Her hair no longer was in her signature high ponytail but wrapped up into a perfectly centered, sophisticated bun. She looked so strong, so imposing, so perfectly in control of everything down to the dust that danced in the candlelight, that your fingers loosened their grip on Rory’s collar. You stepped away from him. Not in fear, not in defeat, but rather as a young predator respectfully makes way for the alpha that silently crawls through the grass towards the defenseless prey grazing in the shade.

Wilhemina’s gaze fell on Rory. Her eyes were as bottomless and terrifying as the inside of a cave sunlight never reaches. For Rory it meant there would be no peace, no warmth,   no salvation. Another tap of her cane, and Rory flinched. Actually took a step towards you for protection.

Wilhemina walked up to him, her upper body gracefully swaying from side to side as it always did, her gait as nonchalant and powerful as a big cat’s. She stopped a few inches away from Rory and rested both hands on the knob of her cane.

“Welcome,” she breathed in his face, “to Outpost 3.”

You grinned. In the dark building with devastation outside the doors and despair within you grinned, warmth like that of a fire in a cold winter night spreading down your body and wrapping soothingly around your heart. Wilhemina’s eyes briefly shifted to yours. Oh, she would be alright. You lowered your head, staring down at the ugly floor to hide the pride and relief that painted themselves all across your face and twinkled in your eyes. Caught in the eye of a tornado this woman would be alright and with the flick of her fingers bend the howling winds to her command.

Rory’s body looked like it had lost several inches and pounds. Probably part of him had fled in fear. He gulped, tried to maintain eye contact with Wilhemina, failed, stared down at his feet as heat flooded his face.

“Unless I’m mistaken, you’re not on my list,” Wilhemina went on. Her voice was melodic, as if she were about to break into a song. “Take him to the cell,” she ordered a giant of a woman who stood in the doorway. The woman grabbed Rory and dragged him out of the room. His eyes shot a frightened look your way before he disappeared, the darkness swallowing his pale and quivering form.

A hush had fallen upon the room. Everyone stood rigid with their eyes lowered respectfully or inspecting a piece of furniture or the ceiling or their own fingers. You saw the hairdresser glance up at Wilhemina, curious and intimidated, his gaze lingering no more than a second on her face before focusing back on the cuff of his right sleeve.

Wilhemina tapped her cane on the floor and briefly introduced herself in a firm, authoritative voice. Her eyes coldly scanned the room as she talked, explaining what the Cooperative was, how hard they had worked to save the human race, how grateful the survivors should be, how humbled. Before explaining the house rules she reminded everyone that survival required order and strict obedience. She would be ruthless, she assured them sternly. Anyone who broke the rules would be kicked out of the building or immediately shot.

You frowned at that. Death seemed too extreme a punishment. Just as the thought crossed your mind, an old woman voiced it in consternation. Wilhemina’s gaze fell on her and a cold, condescending smile grazed her lips.

“It would be too extreme in the world we used to know,” she said very slowly. “But here, we are the last vestige of the human race. Error and insubordination simply cannot be tolerated, not when they could result in the complete eradication of our species.”

Hierarchy is the key, Wilhemina went on. In Outpost 3, everyone would know their place. Here she paused to unfold a piece of paper and slowly read out the names of “the Elite” and of “those who would serve them”, the Purples and the Greys respectively. You nervously shifted your weight from one foot to the other. Hushed whispers were exchanged before another sharp tap of Wilhemina’s cane commanded silence.

There would be no leaving the building. Greys and Purples alike would be on a strict timetable. Each Purple would be attributed a Grey to serve and obey them. Here a few voices rose in protest, but quickly died down. Good manners and proper dressing should be observed, for appearances did wonders on one’s morale. There should be no indulging in improper activities, and no unauthorized copulation.

Your jaw dropped open at that.

“Excuse me?” the hairdresser exclaimed, his voice louder and clearer than all the others which chimed in angry protest. “It’s already Hell down here, no need to make it worse!“

“Now that’s bullshit,” you heard yourself growl.

Wilhemina’s eyes met yours. “I said,” she enunciated, “no unauthorized copulation.”

Oh. Your shoulders relaxed. You bit down on a smirk. You swore, Wilhemina’s mouth twitched just so, as if she, too, were holding back a smug smile.

After that, Ms Mead was ordered to show everyone to their rooms. You lingered behind as the others crowded to the door, voices grumbling and shoulders bending in defeat, like a pack of children gathering for class after recess. Wilhemina watched them leave, and then she turned on her heel and disappeared in the corridor.

You followed her, assuming a nonchalant expression, sticking your hands into your pockets. Wilhemina walked into the bedroom she had chosen for herself and you on your first visit of the Outpost. You glanced right and left, then followed her inside.

As soon as you closed the door, Wilhemina sat heavily on the bed, her shoulders sagging, and closed her eyes. You kneeled in front of her, peering up worriedly at her.

“Are you okay? Are you hurting? Wilhemina, are you okay?” you inquired urgently, your hands coming up to cup her face.

A soft smile slowly spread over her lips, and her eyes fluttered open. “I’m fine, Y/N,” she answered, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

You scrambled up to your feet and sat on the bed next to her, pressing your shoulder to hers, reaching for her hand.

“You should lie down,” you urged, ”have some rest. You did so much, Mina you did so good.”

She closed her eyes again, and shook her head.

“I don’t have time to rest, Y/N. I need to make sure everyone is settling in properly.”

“Let me do it,” you offered, pushing your palm to hers and lacing your fingers together. “I can do it. You lie down and I’ll see to everything.”

She let out a sigh and rested her head on your shoulder.

“I’m grateful for the offer, Y/N, but you have no idea how this place is to be run. Besides, it’s not your job.”

Her head was pressing more and more heavily on your shoulder. She looked so exhausted, so vulnerable in contrast to her earlier show of strength and power that you felt fear clench at your throat once more.

You wrapped one arm around her shoulders to support her and she let her body sag against your side. She buried her face in the crook of your neck and let out one shaky breath that tickled your skin.

“Where did he hurt you?” you asked in a whisper, nuzzling into her hair.

Something wet rolled down your neck. There was silence, broken by a sniffle and then Wilhemina’s voice, barely audible, “My stomach and ribs feel like they’re broken into pieces.”

You squeezed your eyes shut, breathed out angrily through your nose and gently stroked your thumb over her shoulder, back and forth.

“Let me have a look?” you tried softly.

She shook her head. “It’s not pretty.”

“I don’t care,” you retorted, the words leaving your mouth confident and strong.

Wilhemina pulled herself away from you as if she meant to stand, but she stayed on the bed, making no effort to straighten her shoulders. She sighed, lifted one hand to pinch the bridge of her nose.

“I really do have to go,” she said. She opened one eye to look at you. “You can play the doctor tonight when my day is done.”

You watched her as she stood up and scrutinized her reflection in the mirror, smoothing her left hand over her dress, tilting her head on one side then the other, tugging at her right sleeve that rode up her arm.

“I’m so sorry I wasn’t there,” you whispered, so low you thought she could not hear you, but her eyes met yours in the mirror. The next words left your mouth coated with such sadness and so heavy with guilt it was a miracle they made it all the way to Wilhemina. “I’m so sorry I didn’t take Mutt’s warning seriously. I was wrong about Rory, and I put you in danger, and I can’t -” Your voice trailed off. You closed your eyes, unable to hold Wilhemina’s gaze, and gulped back tears.

For a few, agonizingly long seconds, there was only silence. Stupid, you scolded yourself, not for the first time today. Stupid, stupid, stupid. You had sworn to yourself you would not burden Wilhemina with your useless feelings of guilt, sworn you would keep them to yourself. You kept putting her in uncomfortable, dangerous situations and you –

There was the sound of Wilhemina’s cane, the rustle of her dress, and then you felt warmth on your cheeks as her hands cupped your face.

“It wasn’t your fault, Y/N,” you heard her voice, soft and loving. You opened your eyes. Wilhemina’s brow was slightly pushed up, her eyes were big and very brown and God, how you loved her eyes. You leaned in, as if to dive into them. “Please don’t hold yourself responsible for anything that happened today.”

You were about to protest, but you closed your mouth at the last second and kept the words captive. No burdening her, you reminded yourself sharply. She already had so much to carry. So you gave her a smile instead, hoping it looked convincing; it must have, for Wilhemina let go of your face and drew away.  

You watched her walk slowly to the door, pressed your lips tightly closed as another apology violently slammed against them, desperate for a way out. No burdening her. Wilhemina stopped in front of the door, straightened her back and shoulders, and took a deep breath. She stood as regal and powerful as you had ever seen her, the candlelight dancing in awe on her hair.

She put one hand on the door handle, offered you a smile like a bouquet of flowers, opened the door, and walked off.

[arvandus]

Touch (Pt. 8)

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: 18+ only please!  Drug abuse/withdrawal, adult language/themes, heavy angst, past trauma/abuse, anxiety/panic attacks, PTSD, fluff, pining, slow burn, eventual emotional SMUT. *please pay attention to the chapter tags as these warnings will apply at different times*

Synopsis: When you first joined the LOV to lend your healing quirk, Dabi terrified you.  Not interested in attachments, he wanted to keep it that way.  That is, until he needs your help. (Slow burn, soft Dabi).

Chapter warning: Another long chapter, clocking in at 10k words and 27 pages.  First half is a bit heavy, so... Trigger warnings: physical abuse, verbal abuse, childhood trauma flashbacks

Chapter Songs: When The Truth Hunts You Down by Sam Tinnesz/Make It Rain by Ed Sheeran

Part 1   Part 7

Artwork credit to @hellowon31 on Twitter (https://twitter.com/hellowon31)

Part 8 - Memories

Dabi stared at his desk, now positioned in front of his bedroom door.  He did it as soon as he’d returned to his room and swallowed the pills you had given him.  He wasn’t sure what to expect for the evening, but whatever happened, he wanted to make it through it without leaving his room.

That was a decision he had made before he even showed up at your door with dinner, as evidenced by the plastic bags currently occupying the surface of his makeshift barricade.  Ramen wasn’t the only thing he’d gotten while he was out.  The bags were filled with a variety of items - more snacks, a pack of cigarettes, electrolyte drinks, over the counter medicines.  Anything and everything he could think of was in those bags, the collection curated from multiple experiences of past detoxes.  Granted, this wasn’t a full detox, but that just made it that much harder to anticipate what exactly his experience was going to be.

Next to the lineup of bags was a bottle of high-end whiskey and a far less fancy plastic cup.  That part wasn’t exactly planned… it was a last-minute decision, swiped from the bar downstairs after he’d returned from his shopping spree.  He knew you wouldn’t be happy about it; no doubt you’d grill him on the risks of mixing alcohol and drugs.  But it was his safety net without the risk of leaving his room in search of something stronger.

The night dragged by slowly, painfully.  Every inch of Dabi was restless and aching.  His scarred legs screamed a discordant song through his veins, muffled under the influence of the pills you had given him.  The aches he still felt were just annoying enough to make sleep impossible, despite the exhaustion that pulled at him.  There was no comfortable position, nothing to ease the physical stress.

Still, the pain was bearable.  Your treatment was working.

It had its limits, though. Despite the pills you’d given him, he was still functioning on an opioid withdrawal.  A jittery energy consumed him, forcing his leg to beat like a jackhammer, while his mind raced. Dabi could never stay in one spot for long, switching between his bed to his desk chair, to his bed again.  Sitting.  Lying down. Standing.  Sitting again. It hadn’t taken him long to break into his cigarettes, dragging long puffs into his lungs to ease his tattered nerves. It helped to ease the physical distress, but his mind continued to jump from thought to thought, no longer encumbered by a drug-filled haze. 

The headache relief you’d provided him was proving to be a double-edged sword, allowing his sporadic thoughts to come through clearer without the sharp, throbbing ache as a distraction.  Your conversation hung over Dabi like a vengeful ghost.  He tried to run from it, distracting himself with various forms of entertainment on his phone.  Music videos, books, TV shows, memes…

Did you like memes? Of course, you did.  Who didn’t?

Damn it, there you were again, in his brain.

He didn’t want to think about it.  He didn’t want to think about you.

But he did anyway.  Obsessively.

It wasn’t long before Dabi was sitting on his bed, his phone forgotten in his hand while his mind turned over every nuance of what was said, every detail of body language.  It honed in on the fear in your eyes, the way you had wrapped your arms around yourself, the way you had frozen against his harsh tone. His mind chewed on it like a dog with a bone, a dog he couldn’t fucking train.

It shouldn’t matter.  It shouldn’t fucking matter.

So, you were scared of him. That was to be expected.  It wasn’t like he needed you to like him.  This was all temporary anyway.

So, he had grabbed you. Big deal.  It wasn’t like he really hurt you, right?  It could have been so much worse.

The thoughts the did little to comfort him, his new-found conscience finding little of value in his weak excuses.  The guilt sat in him like a stone, too heavy for him to move.

It mattered.  It mattered a lot.

And he hated it.

Dabi still couldn’t remember actually grabbing you, but his mind filled in the blank space regardless, taking what he could remember and embellishing it into a brightly colored oil painting.  It hung front and center in the castle of his mind, joining the tapestry of memories that wrapped around Dabi like a cage.  And from it, it forced him to follow the threads of his life, drawing parallels to past wrongs, to things said and things done…

…To things better left buried.

“I hate you.”

The words echoed in Dabi’s mind, an old memory with his voice attached.  Young, hot-headed, angry.  He closed his eyes tight, resting the bridge of his nose on his interlaced fingers as he tried not to remember.  He didn’t want to remember.  But his mind was freed now, healing from the poison he’d been feeding himself for years, and it didn’t give a fuck what he wanted or didn’t want.

“This is all your fault.”

So, this is where his mind wanted to start first.  He knew this memory, and he knew where it would eventually lead. 

The memory came into focus with such clarity that it was as if he were there again.  He could see her, clear as if she were there in person, white hair framing broken eyes as wet tears trailed down her hollow, pale cheeks. He could see himself too, younger, around thirteen years old, with red, wild hair like his father, his blue eyes filled with angry tears. 

He watched, a prisoner in his own mind, as the memory unfolded before him.

His head hung low as his eyes stared ahead of himself, unfocused. Why?  Why was this happening to him?  His father’s harsh words wrapped around him like chains, restricting him, choking him, forcing him into submission.

‘YOU’RE NOTHING BUT A FAILED EXPERIMENT.’

Why was he cast aside so easily, as if he didn’t MATTER?

His father promised.  He PROMISED that he’d help him become a hero.  He’d trained every day, no matter how hard his father pushed him, no matter how much his quirk burned him. His father had called it the cost of greatness. It was all meant to mold him, to beat the weakness out of him and make him stronger, to prepare him for the greatest test of his life, the UA entrance exams.  It was the ONLY path to becoming a pro hero.  Not just any pro hero, but the BEST.  His father insisted on it.

But now, with less than a year before he would apply, his father abandoned him.

“I tried so hard, mom.  I did everything he ever asked, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much he… he…”

His mother wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. “I’m so sorry Touya.”

His voice shook with the force of suppressed sobs. “If I’d been strong enough… if I was more like him, then maybe he’d have been proud of me. Maybe… maybe he would have wanted me.”

“Touya…” his mother whispered consolingly.

He stared at his bandaged hands, watching through blurred vision as his tears broke free and fell onto the strips of cloth.  They soaked in, exposing the red blood beneath. He stared at it.

His fathers voice echoed in his mind.  ‘You’re WEAK!  Just like your mother!’

Tainted blood.

HER blood.

His father was right.

Touya’s pain transformed into anger. “This is all your fault.”  He whispered.

Her embrace vanished as his words smacked her.  Her eyes began to fill with tears.  “What…?”

“This is all your fault!” He repeated, pinning his angry eyes on her tear-filled ones.  “I HATE YOU!”

Dabi rubbed at the bridge of his nose, unable to get his mother’s facial expression out of his head. He had been such an idiot. A young, stupid kid.  He’d destroyed her with those words.  Maybe… maybe that was the start.  The first crack in her mental fragility.

Her face faded away, and now he was in an office. His father’s office.

“I’m going to apply to UA.” He announced.

His father looked up at him from the newspaper he was reading. “No you’re not.  I forbid it.”

“You may have given up on me, but I haven’t.”  Touya said stubbornly.

Enji put the newspaper down.  “If I thought you were capable of getting into UA, then we would be training right now instead of having this conversation.”

“But dad-“

“I FORBID IT!” He shouted as orange flames erupted along his face and shoulders.  “I’ll not have you bring shame on the Todoroki name all for a childish dream.”

“It’s NOT a childish dream!” Touya shouted.

Dabi scoffed at the memory, noting his father’s hypocrisy about “childish dreams.”  He knew the rest of this story…  He’d applied behind his father’s back and failed the exam.  His father was furious.

As if summoned, the memory burst forth, tying together with the previous.

He lay in the hospital bed at the UA Health Center, wrapped in bandages, nursing his failure.    He’d lost control of his emotions during the exam, consumed by anger and a desperate desire to prove his father wrong.  In turn, he lost control of his quirk.  Not only had he injured himself with his recklessness, but he’d accidentally injured two other applicants with his wild flames – an automatic disqualification.

The school nurse, Recovery Girl, was treating the other’s wounds first, and then she would treat his.

Or so he thought.

Just as she was about to use her quirk to rapidly heal some of his injuries, his father burst through the door in a cloud of barely contained rage.

“Don’t treat him.” He ordered.

“Excuse me?” She replied.

Touya stared at his father, realization starting to dawn on him.  He wouldn’t...

Enji narrowed his eyes.  “I said don’t treat him.”

“But Mr. Todoroki, if I don’t use my quirk to help him then he’ll be left with scars.  Worse than the ones he already has.”

“I know.”

“It will take him many weeks to heal.  He may feel pain for the rest of his life.”

“He must suffer the consequences of his actions.”

“But sir, if I may-“

“You may not!”

“…very well, sir.” She mumbled.  She left the room, muttering her disapproval under her breath.

After she was gone, a cold fear gripped Touya as his father stared at him with fury in his eyes.  He waited for his father’s barrage of insults and accusations, waited for the lecturing on family honor and being a ‘man.’

But the attacks never came.  Instead, his father cooled his expression, fixing him with a cold, emotionless glare.  “You brought this on yourself.”  He turned on his heel to leave, but paused to glance at him over his shoulder.  “Remember this day, Touya.”  Then he left.

Tears streaked down Touya’s face as he sobbed alone. No one could hear him.  No one came.

Dabi stood up and made his way to his desk, pulling out another cigarette before sitting down in the metal chair.  He lit the cigarette with the blue flame dancing on his finger and took a long drag of it as his free hand slowly spun the whiskey bottle in circles in front of him.

He didn’t want to think about this.  Any of this. There was no fucking point to it, nothing to be gained.  It only brought up the same pain he’d lived with for years, the pain he’d learned to ignore in place of vengeance.

He wanted to drink the entire bottle.  He wanted to move his desk aside and seek you out, have you turn off his emotions like you’d done before.  He could do it… the desk wasn’t really going to stop him.

But it served as a reminder. A reminder of what he had committed himself to.  Why did he decide to go through with this?  What the hell was he thinking?

He thought of you.  He thought of the past few days.  And once again, he was back on his thread of memories, following the tapestry down to its source.

The source of what?

He wasn’t sure.  But it was as if someone had strapped him down and was forcing his eyes open.  It wouldn’t stop.  His thoughts continued unfettered, memories organizing with a clarity he hadn’t felt in years.

Touya sat alone in his room watching the rain pour outside as he nursed a black eye.  Outside his second-story window, his father trained in the courtyard with his youngest brother. His quirk had manifested earlier that day – a perfect combination of fire and ice.  Enji had been ecstatic.

Touya had punched the wall in anger.

Now he sat here, alone, watching his father train his replacement.

His replacement.

No wonder his father had abandoned him when Shouto was born.  He was placing all of his chips on him once he realized that Touya’s body would never be able to handle his quirk.

A knock at the door interrupted his brooding, and his mother stepped in, disappointment already on her face.

“I heard you got in another fight today.” She said, as she closed the door behind her.

“They were picking on Natsuo.” He said.  “I couldn’t just let that happen.”

“They’re talking about expelling you.”

He looked away from her, his eyes looking back out the window.  “So what.” He replied.  If anything, he welcomed it.  Anything to thwart his father’s plans of making him go to college and get a business degree, only to work under his father’s thumb at his agency for the rest of his life.

“You can’t keep doing this, Touya.” She said, concern heavy in her voice.

“Doing what?” He looked back at her. 

“Destroying your life like this.”

He glared at her accusation. “I didn’t destroy my life.” He looked away, watching the courtyard again.  “He did.”

His mother walked over to join him at the window.  A gust of wind blasted raindrops onto the glass.  Outside, Shouto’s flames died away on his skin as he collapsed to his hands and knees.  Enji grabbed him by his small arm, forcing him back up to his feet.  She watched it with a sadness in her eyes.

“He’s too young.” She said quietly.

Jealousy soaked into Touya’s heart.  “And I wasn’t?”

His words stabbed her, and she hung her head in guilt.  “I’m sorry, Touya.  It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.”

Now he was confused.  “Like what?”

She didn’t respond, and he looked at her to see her eyes glazed over in silent introspection.  She’d mentally retreated within herself, to a place that Touya couldn’t follow.  It wasn’t the first time he’d seen her do this.  If anything, it was happening more frequently lately.  Normally, when this happened he wouldn’t press it, allowing her to escape within herself, to protect whatever part of her she felt needed protecting.

But now her words trapped him, and his heart began to pound at their unspoken meaning.  “LIKE. WHAT?  How was it supposed to happen??”

His words cut through her mental isolation, and she stared distantly at the floor as her eyes began to brim with tears.

“If only one of the others had been strong enough… of only I’d given them better quirks…” the tears broke free, landing on the hard floor.  “Then maybe… maybe you wouldn’t have had to suffer so long.  I’m so sorry, Touya.  It’s all my fault.  Everything is all my fault.”  She covered her face in her hands.

Given them better quirks?  Who? 

His body went cold.  Suddenly he was outside of himself, watching the history of his life fly by.

The birth of Fuyumi.  Then came Natsuo.

Now Shouto.

Touya did the math in his head. He was 17 now.  Fuyumi was 14, and Natsuo was 9.  Shouto was 5.   A four-year gap between each of them.

He’d always thought that his siblings came along as a natural process of a growing family, born from love despite his father’s harsh, obsessive nature.  Why else would Rei have stayed with him all these years? But the age gaps were too uncanny, too similar.  It was just enough time for each of their quirks to manifest.

Shouto wasn’t the only one who was intended as a replacement.

Which meant his father had given up on him long before he’d ever let on.

Touya’s chest heaved, as his world was up-ended.  “It was all a lie…”

The intensity of his tone forced his mother to come back to the present, her hands falling from her face to stare at him.  “What?”

“It was all a lie!” he repeated, his voice raising.  “All these years…”

He stood up and began pacing his room, his hand in his red hair.  “Tell me it’s not true.” He demanded.  “I already knew that Shouto was meant to replace me.  But Natsuo?” He paused and stared at his mother.

She looked way shamefully. 

His breaths began to come out in ragged gasps as he fought the tears coming to his eyes. 

“Fuyumi?”

“No, not Fuyumi.  Not initially, at least.”

Right.  Because his quirk had just manifested when she was born.  His father didn’t know yet how weak and limited his body was; he’d still believed it was something that could be worked past, that it was something Touya could control.  Which meant that Fuyumi was wanted.  Lucky her.  No wonder his father seemed to favor her over everyone else.

He sat on his bed, his head in his hands.  “What the FUCK.”

All these years, he’d assumed his father had believed in him, and only gave up on him right before he was set to apply to UA.  Even then, he’d thought that his father only abandoned him as a way to protect Touya from hurting himself, or even worse, killing himself.  That was why his father hadn’t let him get healed back then, right? That was the lesson he was supposed to learn?  To accept his weakness and take his mortality seriously?  Sure, there was the whole thing about ruining the family’s reputation, but he’d always hoped that deep down, there was more to it than that. There had to be.

But no. None of it was true. It was all about HIM.  His father and his stupid, obsessive goal to beat All Might, even if it was only through his progeny.  Touya was nothing but a tool to him, a means to an end.  And when he couldn’t meet his father’s needs, he became nothing more than a contingency plan.  In the meantime, his father kept trying to make the perfect hero.  The perfect quirk.

And he’d finally succeeded.

Touya stared at his scarred hands. “Did… did he ever even love me?” The words fell from his mouth, a forbidden, broken whisper.

His mother’s arms were around him then, cradling him to her chest.  “Of course, he loves you.  I swear it.”

The warmth of her embrace made him turn his attention on her, and suddenly a revelation hit him, cutting into him like a thousand knives.  His body went rigid, his eyes wide.

“You knew.” He whispered.  He forced her arms off of him and stood up, towering over her with his height.  She took a step back, her eyes wide.  “You knew and you never told me.”

He turned his back to her, unable to look at her.

“Touya, please...” she begged, her voice quivering.

He didn’t want to hear it. There was nothing she could say that could fix this.  His father was one thing… he’d accepted that he was an abusive, shitty father.  But his mother?  His mother who he’d confided in?  His mother who was supposed to protect him?  His mother… who he trusted?  Why didn’t she ever tell him?

The betrayal was too much. It cut too deep.  His entire childhood was a lie, years wasted by those who were supposed to love and support him.

Disgust filled him.  He wanted her gone.  Out of his room, out of his life.

“Touya!” she said desperately.  She reached out to him and placed a hand on his shoulder, an attempt at bridging the growing chasm between them.

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” He shouted. 

Flames erupted across his body, uncontrolled, as his arm shoved her away from him.  She stumbled back with such force that she collided into the wall before slumping down against it.  She didn’t get up.  Instead, she sat there with her knees drawn up like a child, her body wracked with sobs.

He stared at her, horrified, as his blue flames died away on his skin.  He wanted to go to her, to reach out and help her, apologies falling frantically from his lips.  He took a cautious step forward, one hand outstretched towards her.  But she shied away from him, her arms wrapping protectively around her head.

“No! Enji, please!”

Her words stopped him in his tracks. Slowly, he lowered his hand and stared in stunned silence as his mother babbled incoherent apologies.  Something shattered within himself, sinking away to leave a hollowness in its place.

He ran.

Dabi was drowning, as the weight of his past washed over him, choking him.

That was the longest one yet.  And the most painful.  It ripped at the exposed tender places in his heart, places he’d thought were long-since dead.

Dabi’s vision blurred and he wiped at his nose.  This was what he did.  He lashed out, hurting those close to him, those who didn’t deserve it.  It was the same with you. It was who he was, it was who he was made to be. It’d only be a matter of time before it happened again.

He lifted his cigarette to take another puff but stopped when he realized that it had burned down to the filter, leaving a trail of ash in its wake on the desk.

He unpacked another cigarette and lit it.  His hand began to unscrew the whiskey bottle.

She had avoided him after that, and he avoided her.  It wasn’t long after that rainy day that his mother had her mental breakdown, scalding Shouto in an attempt to burn away the image of her husband.  Or was she trying to burn away the image of Touya? Was there even a difference in her mind?

The news had shocked him, and he ran as fast as his legs could take him.  He burst into Enji’s office, forcing himself into his father’s presence.

“Where is she?” Touya demanded, his chest heaving from exertion.

Enji frowned at the intrusion, looking up from his paperwork at his desk.  He was dressed professionally, in a white button-up shirt with a blue tie.

“Who?” He demanded.

Touya clenched his jaw so tight his teeth ground together.  God, did he hate him…

“My mother. You know, your wife.  The one you knock up every four years and the ignore.”

Enji menacingly rose from his chair, his blue eyes carrying the threat of violence within them. He towered over Touya, his presence casting a shadow from the wall sconces behind him.

“You watch your tone with me, boy.” Enji said coldly.  “I will not be disrespected in my own house.”

Touya knew if he pushed it, he’d never get what he came here for.  So, he sucked up his anger and pride, bowing deep in apology. “Yes, sir.” Touya muttered with downcast eyes. “Forgive me.   I just want to know where she is.”

Enji paused for a moment, staring down at his son before returning to his seat and picking up his pen.  “She’s been admitted to the Musutafu Mental Institution.” He replied as he marked his paper.

A pause filled the space before Touya asked his next question.  “Can I see her?”

“No.”

Touya’s breath stopped, his mind unable to wrap around the simple word that fell like a judge’s gavel. His father’s answer was cold and final, said with such heartless ease.  He stared in disbelief.

He thought he had time to mend things, to finally overcome his cowardice and atone for his actions.  But there was no atoning now.  He’d lost her.  Tears began to sting in the corners of his eyes, but he fought them back; his father always hated it when he cried.

“So that’s it…? She’s gone?”

“It was for the best.” Enji replied.  “She attacked my son, almost made him useless.  Now I can train him without her interfering.”

“Is that all you care about?”  The words fell from Touya’s mouth before he could stop them, covered in bitterness.

Enji’s pen stopped scribbling.  An agonizing ten seconds passed before he set it down and looked up at Touya, pinning him with his sharp eyes, dark eyebrows pulled down into an angry frown.  “Excuse me?”

Touya steeled himself against his father’s wrath as the rage he’d been keeping to himself burst forth against its creator. 

“Is that all you care about?” he repeated.  “Your wife is in a mental institution and your son is scarred for life, but all you can think about is surpassing All Might?”

Enji pinned him with a look that was almost akin to pity.  “How small-minded you are.  This was always your problem, Touya. Your mother too.  You both lacked vision, an inability to see the bigger picture. That was why you were never able to push past your limits.  But Shouto… Shouto will be different.”

Enji’s accusations made Touya’s lips curl into a snarl.  “Do you even hear yourself?” he spat.  “No wonder she went crazy.  She wasn’t attacking Shouto, she was attacking you!  This is all your fault, and you don’t even care. You’re a shit father, and a worse husband.”

The pity in his father’s eyes turned to ice, and the man quietly set his pen down before standing up from his desk.  “Shouto said the same thing.” He grumbled.  “I excused it coming from him, because he’s young and doesn’t understand yet.  But you… you should know better.”  He loosened his tie and began to unbutton the cuffs of his sleeves.  “I’ve been too lenient on you.  It looks like there are some lessons I still have yet to teach you.”

Touya took a step back at the obvious gesture.

Enji stared down at him in disgust.  “Look at you. Already scared.  You’re just as pathetic as before.”

Touya went into a defensive stance, his blue flames igniting across his skin.

His father scowled. “You dare raise your flames against me, boy?” His own flames erupted along his body.  “Very well.  If you’re going to talk like a man and fight like a man, then you will learn to accept your consequences like a man.”

Dabi took a drag of his new cigarette, already burned halfway from neglect.  He inhaled deeply, wanting the toxic fumes to fill the gaping hole in his chest.  It didn’t.

He picked up the now-open whiskey bottle and poured it to the halfway point of the plastic cup.  There was no ice to chill it, but it would have to do.  He took a swig, letting the fiery taste coat his tongue, burning away the taste of ash.

Enji had taken him outside into the courtyard, where he received the worst beating he’d ever gotten. His father’s blows lacked the restraint he typically exercised, fueled by a dark rage.  It had left Touya gagging and coughing, crumpled on the floor in a heap. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to move, it hurt to think. 

The beating may have been five minutes or it may have been five hours. He couldn’t really tell. All he did know was that no one came.  Just like all the times before, no one came to say something, to stop him, even though the sound of their conflict shook the Todoroki grounds, incinerating nearby bushes and damaging the exposed framework of the surrounding buildings. And after his father had left, removing his tie and his shirt to clean the blood from them, Touya had laid there alone in the dirt, staring up at the cold, lifeless, star-studded night sky as an unforgiving universe stared back.  He wanted to die.

It felt like eternity had passed before two sets of hands gently grabbed him and helped him up, each of his arms going around familiar shoulders.  His siblings had finally come for him, now that his father was out of sight and they knew they were safe from his wrath.  They had helped Touya to his bed, where Fuyumi tended to his wounds in silence and Natsuo sat beside her, his mouth pressed into a thin, angry line.

Dabi took another couple of decent gulps of his whiskey, resisting the urge to down the entire contents and pour another cup.  How much did he pour?  Four shots worth?  Five? He needed it to kick in.  If he was going to be forced to relive every bad memory he ever had, then he’d be here all night. 

His body was worn down, his spirit tired.  He really didn’t want to feel anymore.

But the alcohol wasn’t working fast enough; his brain wouldn’t stop.

It was late at night, the moon high in the sky, the air cold with the hint of rain as clouds rolled in from the distance.  It had been a few days since Touya’s beating, but despite his sister’s protests, he decided to leave the confines of his room and take a walk on the family compound.

That was how he ended up here, six feet away from the training room.  The light was off, but he could hear the sound of fists hitting, and every now and then the room would light up with bright orange flame.  But there was no lecturing, no young voice crying.  Touya knew Shouto wasn’t in there this time.  He was still in bed, recovering from the burn his mother had inflicted. Enji was furious, pacing the grounds like an angry bear, snapping at staff and family and locking himself away in his training room to work out his frustrations, constantly striving for a goal he’d never be able to achieve.

Touya inwardly scoffed.  If anyone should be admitted to a mental institution, it should be his father. The man was literally driven insane by his inability to surpass All Might.  But of course, that would never happen.  His father was the number two hero.  He was “untouchable.”  There was no one brave enough or strong enough to make that man face his own demons. It made Touya curl his nose up at the hypocrisy.

An odd silence drew Touya out of his thoughts.  The sounds of fists impacting dummies and training equipment had stopped, the flames no longer bathing the ground in light through the open door.  Then he heard it – an unfamiliar sound, one he’d never heard before. He furrowed his brow in confusion and inched closer to the open door before risking a peek inside.

The moonlight spilled in just enough for him to see the hulking form of his father, sitting on the floor with his head in his hands.  His great shoulders shook, and finally Touya realized the sound he was hearing.

His father was crying.

Disgust filled Touya, sour and bitter.  For all of his father’s posturing, for all of his grandiose lectures about strength and commitment, here he was, sobbing like a baby.  And for what?  For his inability to reach his dreams, while his family fell apart around him?

Or was he crying FOR his family?

Touya pushed the possibility away, burying it deep, deep down where he refused to give the idea any chance of blooming into a belief.

No.  This man didn’t feel for his family.  He wasn’t ALLOWED to feel for his family.  He was the reason his family was as broken as it was, every single one of them able to tie their scars back to him and his selfish actions.

Touya hated him.

And yet he loved him.  How fucked up was that? He could feel it in his irrational urge to go to him and offer support, a support he’d never once received.  And that just made him hate him more, because despite all that his father had done to him, Touya still fucking cared.

His father wasn’t worthy of it.  He didn’t deserve Touya’s love, or his mother’s love, or anyone’s love for that matter.

And he certainly didn’t deserve to cry.

Touya fled.  He fled from his feelings, he fled from his fears, taking only his righteous anger with him and riding it like a hellhound. He ran as fast as he could, ignoring the pain that sliced through him from his father’s abuse.  His lungs burned. His ribs ached.  As he ran, his thoughts followed, chasing him and swooping on him like a flock of crows, pecking at his sanity.

He ended up in an abandoned warehouse, a quarter mile from his house, across the railroad tracks that marked the separation of ritzy upper-class life and industrial city complexes. He fell to his knees, his palms landing hard on the dirt-strewn floor inside the old building, as sobs ripped lose from his throat, harsh and painful.

He hated him.  He hated him more than anything.  How could he have ever idolized him?  How could he have ever loved him?  His father was selfish.  He was destructive. He was cruel.  And now his father cried like a baby, as if he were a victim in all of this.

He wasn’t a victim. And he certainly wasn’t a hero.

What kind of hero saved civilians while simultaneously destroying his family behind closed doors? That wasn’t a hero.  It was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

And it was devouring his family.  His helpless, innocent family.

They deserved justice. They deserved saving.  Where was hero society in all of this?  Lining his father’s pockets, placing him on a pedestal to be worshipped.  His father always preached about Touya accepting the consequences of his actions.  So where were Enji’s consequences?

As long as his father continued to reign supreme, his family would never be safe.  His family would never heal.  His mother would never recover. Natsuo would never be freed of his anger. Shouto would never get to decide who he is and who he wants to be. Fuyumi would be weighed down by her obligation to her family, foregoing her own dreams to take care of them all.

His father needed to be gone.  Permanently.  Only then would his family be safe.  Only then would they be free.

But Touya… Touya would never be free.  He understood that now, even as his hatred and anger consumed him.  He was just like his father, a proverbial chip-off-the-old-block.  He’d managed to take all the worst parts of him and make them a part of himself. His obsessive nature, his anger, his jealousy… his violence.  He could feel it in his blood.

If his family wasn’t safe with Enji, then what made Touya any different? He’d already played a hand in his mother’s mental demise.  How could he be sure he wouldn’t hurt the rest as tie went on?

He was just like his father.

He hated his father.

He hated himself.

He wanted to die.

So then, who better to take on the Behemoth?  Who better than his father’s son, the monster he’d made?

Touya had to kill Endeavor.  He had to kill his father.  His father, who he couldn’t even beat in a fight.  He was stupid.  A fool. But there were no other options.  No other paths to justice.  And Touya was tired of waiting for justice.

Touya’s sob turned into a dry laugh.  Was this what it meant to be heroic?  To bear the weight of this responsibility, even if it cost him his soul?  Even if it killed him?

His dry laugh grew into a series of laughs, wild and hysterical, as tears ran down his face, while the reality of what he was committing to tore him asunder.  As he heaved and coughed, a heat began to overtake him, building so quickly that by the time he realized what was happening, it was too late.  Searing, blue flames blasted out of him in such magnitude and such intensity that the windows of the abandoned warehouse exploded, glass shards melting from the intense heat as they rained down.  The flames roared outward, reaching for the night sky through the now-glassless windows, groping and writhing, their fierceness never waning.

Touya couldn’t stop it.  The flames scorched through him and consumed him, the sound of it raging in his ears, his body devoured by agony as his quirk ate at him, destroying him from the inside out.  Above him, the heat of the flames began to melt the structural metal beams.

But his hysterical laughter and tears couldn’t stop, even as smoke left his scorched lungs with each exhale and his mouth tasted ash.  A screeching sound filled the space, the sound of metal bending and breaking.  The beams gave way, the roof caving in as destruction rained down around him, silencing his laughter.

…..

Nothing but bright blue fire and broken remains filled his vision.  Slowly, a dark form began to take shape amongst the flames, tall and towering.  It was him. He’d come for him.

The flames parted, and he saw himself as he was now: black hair, dark scars, staples glinting in the firelight.  The sound of a funeral bell tolled and his mouth opened, forming a single word.  A name.

A gentle knock caused the image to begin to fade away like mist, even as the funeral bells still rang in Dabi’s ears.

“Dabi?” He knew that voice. It was you.

Groggily, Dabi opened his eyes to find himself still in his chair at his desk, his head resting on his arm. His forgotten cup of whiskey sat unmoved, inches from his fingers.  It was a dream.  He’d fallen asleep.

Another knock at the door, slightly louder, made him sit up.

“...Dabi?” you called again.

“Yeah.” He grumbled. He rubbed at his face.  “Yeah, yeah.”

His body felt stiff and his neck had a horrible kink in it.  He checked the time on his phone.  5:45am.  Why in God’s name were you up so early?  And why were you knocking on his door?

He stood up and stretched his back, and that was when he felt it – a sharp itching pain that ran along his spine, chased by the agony in his legs.  It was worse than he remembered it being before he’d passed out. Your quirk was starting to wear off.

It looked like you were right on time.

He grabbed the end of his metal desk with one hand and pulled, dragging it slowly away from the door. The sound was grating, like nails on a chalkboard.  If people weren’t awake before, they definitely were now.

As if on cue, three harsh bangs resonated from the wall next him.  “What the hell, Dabi???” Spinner’s voice yelled through the wall.  “People are trying to sleep!”

“Bite me.”  Dabi snapped back before opening the door for you, and stared, giving you an obvious once-over.  You were completely dressed, in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, as if you’d been up for hours.  Dark circles framed your tired eyes. “Hey, doll.” He greeted.

Your heart did a flip before you even knew what hit you, leaving you standing there like a deer in headlights.  It’d been a cool minute since he’d called you that; you didn’t realize how much you’d grown attached to it.

It took you a moment to realize that he was holding the door open for you, inviting you in.  Once you were across the threshold, Dabi closed the door behind you.

“Sorry… did I wake you?” You asked, as your eyes took in the room.  His desk was haphazardly pulled away from the door, covered in plastic bags. The room stank of cigarette smoke and alcohol.  A bottle of whiskey sat incriminatingly on the desk, some of its contents missing.  You picked up the bottle and stared at it before pinning Dabi with a glare.  You knew he knew better.  For someone who was so experienced with drugs, he certainly did do some stupid shit.

“Really?” you scolded.

“Don’t start with me.” Dabi grumbled as he rubbed at his neck. He pulled out an electrolyte drink and downed its contents, wiping his mouth with his hand once it was empty.  “There, you happy?”  He moved on to a bag of chips, crunching loudly as he chewed in annoyance.

Normally, you would have been more diplomatic, navigated the waters a little bit more when you saw them getting choppy.  But you slept like shit again last night, waking up repeatedly from bad dreams only to worry about this idiot while he decided to try to self-medicate by drinking his problems away.

“Don’t get mad at me for calling you out on your bullshit.” You replied.  “If you act like an idiot, then I’m gonna treat you like one.”

“How’s it look up there on your high horse?” Dabi retorted.

“What?”

“It must be exhausting being so fucking perfect.  Makes everyone else around you look like such fucking failures.”  He turned his angry eyes away from you as he sat down on the end of his bed, running a hand through his messy black hair.

His words slapped you, and you stared at him for a long moment, taking in the sight of him.  His eyes looked tired, his cheeks sallow.  His hair looked tangled and unwashed.  When was the last time he took a shower?  His hand kept rubbing at his neck, no doubt nursing a sore spot.  He must have fallen asleep at his desk after a rough night.  You recalled the night you’d helped him through his withdrawal, and the breakdown it had culminated in.  No doubt he was up all night battling his inner demons.  Alone.  Without your help this time.  Guilt soaked through your frustration.

“I’m sorry.” You muttered. “You’re right, I shouldn’t judge. It’s just…” You sat down in his desk chair.  “I’m trying so hard to help you.  And… well…”

“What?” Dabi prodded. “You think I’m not trying?”

Your eyes fell on the desk, which sat askew in his room, and the bags full of various items that were obviously intended to help Dabi get through the night.  “No…” you replied.  “I know you are.  I just wish you took better care of yourself.”

“I take care of myself just fine.”

Your brow furrowed. “I mean it, Dabi.” You rubbed at your face tiredly, letting your fatigue finally show.  “I’m worrying about you, probably more than I should.  I’m pushing my body to its limits, I can’t sleep, and when I do, I dream about you.  Then I wake up, and I worry even more because I can never be entirely sure that you’re okay.”

You felt your body flush with heat at your sudden confession, and you looked at your hands in embarrassment. You weren’t supposed to say that. You weren’t supposed to say any of that.  Stupid, no-good, tired, foggy brain.

A shit-eating grin spread across Dabi’s face, his eyes lighting up in amusement.  “You dream about me, eh?”

“Shut up.” You grumbled. You grabbed a crumpled-up napkin and threw it at Dabi’s head.  It fell pitifully to the floor, three feet from where he sat.

Dabi stared at the failed attack and gave a laugh.  “That was pathetic.”

You tried to suppress a grin.  “I said shut up.  God, you’re such a brat.”

A moment of silence passed between the two of you before Dabi finally spoke.  “Gotta solution to your problem… Stop worrying so much.”

You gave a small half-smirk. “Sorry, not gonna happen.” You replied.  “I worry about my friends.  That’s just how I am.”

Something did a flip in Dabi’s chest, and he averted his eyes.  “Friends, huh?  You don’t even know me.”

“I know you better today than I did a few days ago…”

He gave a dry laugh. You weren’t wrong…

“If we’re not friends when this is all over, then I will be greatly offended.” You teased. “Besides… like your company.”

Dabi stared at you like you grew a second head.  You liked his company? For the life of him, he couldn’t understand why.  Most of the time you’d spent together so far was him either feeling like shit or being an asshole.

But he liked your company too even though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, and for the moment he didn’t feel like fighting it.  He’d argue with himself later over it for sure, but for right now… he enjoyed feeling your presence, enjoyed how your words wrapped around him like a warm blanket, safe and secure.  His memories still sat upon his shoulders, lurking like crows, but they were silent for now, and he was pretty sure that it had something to do with you being here.

Your voice broke through his thoughts.  “Let’s change your bandage.  Are you okay waiting until I’m done treating you to get your pills?”

“Why, are you punishing me for drinking?” he replied. It took you a moment before you caught on that he was teasing.

You grinned and raised an eyebrow at him.  “No, but now that you mention it, we should probably wait until after we’re done since I don’t know how long ago it was that you drank.”

Dabi narrowed his eyes at you suspiciously.  Now you were just doing this on purpose…

You sat behind him on the bed and began unpacking your materials while he removed his shirt.  When you removed his bandage, you stared at the healing burn for a moment.

“How’s it look?” He asked, glancing back at you over his shoulder.

“It’s healing okay, but it’s still going to take some time until you don’t need the bandages.”

Regardless of the status of his burn, he still needed to see you twice a day for your quirk treatment and pills.  It was exhausting, and you were grateful that so far the others only returned with minor injuries.  But that could change at any moment, and you needed to be able to handle it; otherwise, Shigaraki would start to question your value.

You could only hope that your seller could find a way to expedite Dabi’s medication.  And your own too.  You’d counted what you had left before you’d arrived, and you were getting low. Dangerously low.  You could get through today and tomorrow morning, but if you didn’t have your refills by then…

You tried not to think about it.

You changed his bandages easily and began applying your quirk to his scarred skin just as you’d done the night before.  When you adjusted your position to handle the scars on his front half, the fear crept up again.  But this time, you were able to wrangle it successfully, only hesitating for a moment before you continued.  You broke the silence with words, a helpful distraction from your increasing discomfort and wandering thoughts.

“I didn’t know you smoked.” You commented.

He eyed you for a moment, waiting for another lecture.  But it never came and when your eyes met his in a quick glance, there was no judgment in them.

“Only once in a while.” He replied.

You read between the lines of his answer. “Does it help?”

“A little.”

Silence fell again as you became increasingly focused on your quirk.  Your back was itching painfully again, and your heightened senses were making the light in the room seem far too bright.  Still, your fingers traced along his neck, taking special care to make sure no space was left untouched.  Dabi watched your face, inches from his own.  That was when he noticed it.  Something was wrong.  Your smile was gone, your lips now pressed into a firm line.  You took your breaths in through your nose, and your brows were pulled together as you focused.  Your hands were starting to shake.  Were you scared again?  Or was it something else?

Just as your hands began to reach his face, he grabbed your hands in his own and pulled back slightly out of your reach.  “Stop.”

Your eyes focused on him. “What?  Why?”

“Your quirk.  Does it hurt?” his tone was stern.  

You stared at him, your expression caught like a deer in headlights before looking away abashedly.

“Yeah, sort of.” You replied.

Dabi held your hands, as he waited for a better answer than what you gave him.

Finally, you slowly pulled our hands out of his grasp, his touch leaving electricity on your skin, and sat on the bed next to him with your hands clasped together.

“So, you know how when I use my quirk, it numbs your pain?”  Dabi waited silently for you to continue. “It sort of has an opposite effect on me. The more I use it, the more heightened my senses become.  And if I use my quirk too much, then it becomes… uncomfortable.”

Dabi stared at his hands as you spoke, his brow pulled down into a dark frown.  All this time… he knew you were pushing yourself to your limits; hell, you even said so earlier.  But he had assumed it just caused fatigue.  He never knew that it caused you pain.  How had he never noticed?  How many times had you treated him?

How much did you use your quirk on the first night of his withdrawal?  How far did you really push yourself?

A car alarm went off outside of his open window, and your hands immediately flew up to cover your ears against the assault, your heart pounding. Once the pain and panic dissipated, you lowered your hands, embarrassment hot in your blood.  It was the first time Dabi saw this part of you, and it made you feel weak and vulnerable.

“Sorry.” You mumbled.

Dabi hated those words.  He especially hated hearing them from you.  What the hell did you have to be sorry about?  Anger bubbled in him, old and familiar.  But he forced it down, aware of what his anger did to you as the memories flitted across his mind like a warning.

“It’s fine.”  Dabi replied, keeping his voice even.

Dabi’s mind began turning over this new piece of information, fitting the missing puzzle piece into what little he did have. He became acutely aware of how little he really knew about you.

“Is that what those drugs are for?” he asked.

You paused for a moment, contemplating if you should spin your truth to fit his theory.  But it didn’t feel right.  Earlier you said you considered him a friend. Did you keep secrets from friends?

How much did you really trust him?  How much did he trust you?

He was already trusting you more than you were, letting you help him through something very personal.  You’d seen him vulnerable far more than he’d seen you vulnerable.  So how would he feel if he learned you were keeping the truth from him? 

You wondered how he’d react.  If anyone would understand the pain you went through, it’d be him.  If anything, it might make the two of you closer.  You couldn’t deny that the idea of that resonated with an unspoken need within you.

“Sort of.” You replied, as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.  “I can’t use them for my sensory overload.  It’d take too many to really have an impact, and I’d probably O.D. if I tried.”

“So, what are they for?”

Wow.  He really wanted to know.

Your heart pounded in your chest, as your words got stuck somewhere between your mouth and your insecurity.  It’d been so long since you’d talked about it, since you’d acknowledged it with another person.  What if he laughed?  After all, how ridiculous did you look complaining about a single scar compared to Dabi??  Or worse, what if he didn’t care at all?

But he’d asked, and now he was waiting for an answer. 

The words still wouldn’t come, so you positioned yourself with your back facing him and lifted your shirt slightly, exposing the damaged flesh beneath.

Dabi’s eyes widened.  He knew a burn scar when he saw one.  And not just any burn scar.  There was a pattern to it, a story in its twisted, marred flesh.  This was done by a quirk.  It spread across your lower back, the edge of it dipping beneath the hem of your pants.  His hand began to reach out, fingers twitching with the urge to touch it, as if his touch could take the hateful mark off of you.  But he caught himself, his fingers inches from your skin, and clenched his hand into a tight fist.

A long, heavy silence begin to fill the space between you while a thousand questions perched on the edge of his lips as he grappled with this new information and the emotions that erupted from it.

The silence dragged on, and you lowered your shirt, as heart-pounding anxiety smothered you.  It filled the dark spaces in you, the weak places where confidence had abandoned you. It settled into a could dread that made you unable to turn around and face him.  Why wasn’t he saying anything?  You squeezed your eyes closed as tears pricked at the corners.

Did you make a mistake?  You shouldn’t have shown him.  You should have just brushed it off or lied when you had the chance.

Tears began to slip down your cheeks, and you struggled to stop them.  But they wouldn’t stop, and you wiped away at them angrily, sniffling as you struggled to contain yourself.

The sound of your distress snapped Dabi out of his obsessive thoughts.  You were crying.  Why?

Was it something he said? But he didn’t say anything.

Was it something he did? But he didn’t do anything.

What the hell was he supposed to do? He had no words of comfort, and he certainly couldn’t hold you, not without crossing a boundary he’d set for himself.  You had called him a friend.  How did friends comfort each other?  He had no fucking clue.

He scratched at his head awkwardly before standing up.  He bit his cheek from the pain in his legs.  Your pills had worn off, and they were in desperate need of attention.  But he forced it into submission, instead making his way to his desk to retrieve a clean napkin and handing it to you.

The small gesture seemed to help, as you gave a small chuckle and accepted the gift, wiping at your eyes as you averted your tear-stained face from him.

“I’m sorry.” You said with a sheepish laugh.

There was that fucking phrase again.

“Don’t be.” He replied.

That answer seemed to help, too.  You finally turned to face him, a sheepish smile on your face.

“I know guys typically freak out when they see a girl cry.” You commented.  “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Your emotional reaction embarrassed you, and now you were struggling to save face.

“It’s fine.” He grabbed the bag of chips from earlier and grabbed a couple for himself before holding the bag out to you in offering.  You shook your head, keeping your eyes on your lap. 

“It’s just… it’s been a long time since I’ve shared this with anyone.” You tried to explain.  Not entirely truthful, but not entirely a lie either.

“I shouldn’t have asked.” He replied.

“No, it’s fine.” You replied.  “I understand why you wanted to know.”

Silence followed for a moment, filled only by the sound of Dabi’s crunching.  It grated on your ears, but you didn’t want to say anything, glad that he was at least eating something.  Instead, you tried to cover the noise of his chips with your voice.

“It doesn’t hurt all the time…” you explained.  “Only when my quirk gets overused.  That’s what the pills are for.”

 “What about your sensory overload?” Dabi asked.

You were grateful that the conversation was progressing forward, leaving your mini breakdown in the past.  

 “Usually it’s a matter of reducing exposure.  Turning off lights, quieting noises, that kind of thing.” You replied.

 As you spoke, Dabi watched you. He watched the way you never seemed to look up from your lap for very long, your eyes avoiding the light of his lamp.  Your shoulders were hunched against the cold (or was it the pain?), and he recalled how the car alarm before had made you cover your ears.  

 He grabbed another chip as his mind analyzed all the things that he’d missed before.  As soon as it crunched under his teeth, he saw your hands squeeze tightly on the hem of your shirt before loosening again.

 He stared at the bag, before holding it up to you.  “This bothers you?” he asked.

 You averted your eyes, embarrassed.  “Just a little.”

 He slowly put the bag down on the desk, careful not to have it crinkle too loudly.  “Why didn’t you say something?”

 You shrugged.  He scowled.  Then, he stood up with a wince, and closed his open window, drawing the curtains closed to block the brightening daylight.  As he walked back to sit on the bed next to you, he turned off his lamp, plunging the room into darkness that faded to a comfortable dim light once your eyes had adjusted to the change, morning light seeping into the room at an acceptable level.

 You could feel the relief immediately, and you stared at him, bewildered not just by his kindness, but by his awareness.  Was he really paying attention to you that closely?  It made your blood rush in your ears and your heart do somersaults.

 “Thank you.” You said softly.  

 “It’s not a big deal.” He replied as he leaned back and stared at the light dancing on the ceiling. It was the least he could do, he thought.  This discomfort you were feeling was because of him, after all.  Besides, after all you’d done for him – were still doing for him – he figured you’d earned a little bit of kindness in return.

 But only for you.

 Dammit.

 He really was a lost cause.

 “I’m feeling better now…” you said.  “I can finish treating your scars.”

 “It’s fine.” Dabi lied.

 You stood up and faced him. “Let me at least treat your legs. I wasn’t able to get to them last night.”

 “I said it’s fine.”

 “Dabi…” he looked at you and was met with a knowing look on your face.  “Trust me.  I know my limits.  Besides, this is literally my job.”  

 Dabi frowned at you. “No, your job is to treat injuries, not help drug addicts.”

 “My job is to make sure everyone is able to function to the best of their ability.” You countered. You crossed your arms with a smug look. “Don’t make me go tell Shigaraki that you’re being a bad patient.”

 He scowled and looked away. You took that as a surrender and sent him into the bathroom to change into shorts to make your job easier. When he came back out, he was still frowning.

 “You play dirty.” He complained.  “And not in a fun way.”

 You grinned but didn’t respond as you focused on running your hands along his scarred legs, starting at above the knee.  By the time you were done, your quirk was riding the brink, your back on fire again. But you gritted your teeth and bore it, even as sweat beaded across your face.

 You went to your bag and began to rummage through it, wincing as you bent over.  Your back was facing Dabi, your butt in the air, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the view.  A subtle smirk tugged at his lips.  But the grin was short lived; it fell as soon as you stood up, holding the familiar pill bottle in your hand.

 “No.” Dabi said adamantly.

 “Give me a break.” You replied, as you opened the container. “What other options do we have?”

 You held out the three pills towards him, but he stared at them.  “I can’t take these.” He said.

 You took his hand in yours and placed the pills into his palm, closing his fingers over them. “You can, and you will.” You replied. “Besides, it’s temporary, remember?”

 He opened his mouth to protest, but a ding sounded within the room that made you nearly jump out of your skin with your sensitive hearing.  You clumsily pulled your phone out of your bag and opened up your text messages.  Your eyes lit up, and a smile spread across your face before you put the phone away in your bag.

 “Good news,” you said. “Looks like the refills for my pills will be ready for pickup tomorrow.”

 “What about mine?” Dabi asked.

 Your expression fell slightly.  “He didn’t mention them, so I’m guessing they’re not ready yet.”

 “Well that fucking sucks.”

 “It’s not all bad… once I get my refill, there will be enough for both of us.  I asked him to double up the pills so there’d be enough. Then I can really start treating you properly until your pills arrive.  See?  I told you it’d be temporary…”

 Dabi looked up at your happy face and couldn’t deny the relief he felt knowing you weren’t going to be hurting yourself for him for much longer.  “Fine.” He replied.  He swallowed the pills before he could change his mind.

 You picked up your bag with another wince and made your way to the door.  Dabi stood up to follow you, relishing in the painless effort of walking.  He felt like he could run.

 Before you opened his door, you half-turned to him.  “Get some more rest.”  You wrinkled your nose at him.  “And maybe take a shower.  And brush your teeth.”

 Dabi rolled his eyes. “Yes, mom.”

 After you left, he paused for a moment before sniffing his armpit.  He didn’t really smell that bad… did he?

________________________________

Part 9

________________________________

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[numbaoneflaya]

Can I get a list of all ur ocs?

Well anon youve done it, you made me make a list of all my major OCS in one place. I hope your happy with yourself. Under the cut for obvious reasons, may link in my blog desc later.

Modern/BTD verse!!

Jilly- Ferret beastkin little creature, was recently turned into a werewolf by vincent as well so she's running around on full moons in a wereferret wolf hybrid creature form. Chaotic and friendly and wants to be everyone's bestie. She has the most energy in the world and is very kind hearted. Banned from most Claires for stealing and from one Home Depot for climbing the shelves. Prone to living life with rose colored glasses on and seeing the best in everything/everything even when there's nothing there. Socialization is a must for her and is why being basemented/kidnapped broke her psych so quickly and developed severe stockholm. Sometimes overly talkative/enthusiastic and can scare people off. Even if she sees someone shes decided shes friends with be noticeably 'evil', will convince herself it must be for some reason/her fault and ignore it.

Ciggy- Undead punk still learning to harness his powers to interact with the world as a ghost. Was sacrificed by a cult he joined for free concert tickets and to get laid. Likes to cause problems on purpose both pre and prior death and he's not above possessing someone once he learns how to. Was called Rooster in high school before he dropped out because he's loud, obnoxious and always screaming. And also has bright red dyed hair. Looking 4 ways to become less ghosty bcs he wants to be able to help raise his infant daughter, whom he died before he could meet. Bit annoying and in your face, likes poking at bruises, his or others. Kind of a sad heart seeking attention through volume and persistence.

Mike: Vampire loser! Sells drugs and lives at raves. Was turned when she was attacked by a coked out vampire (whom she supplied the product to) and has major scarring on her face and chest. Needs a somewhat constant influx of blood so shell sometimes take victims back to her place and chain them up, slowly draining them over time. Feels bad (ish) about it tho so it is possible to survive her if you are nice and or interesting enough. Kind of desperate for a friend and for love. Is a stalker. If she likes you enough/finds you interesting, she might just appear in your house one night and start rummaging through your fridge like nothing is wrong and youve been besties for years. Its best to indulge her and be friendly, otherwise she could turn violent quickly if her feelings are hurt.

Kilaine- Regular human woman, but fucked up. Born and raised by an elite waspy society she had an interest in the human body and pain tolerance since she was young. Quickly learned that these traits were socially unacceptable in most professions, so she became a doctor. The only family she cared about was her younger sister who she lost in a car accident, where they were flipped over and trapped inside while it was afire. While her sister burned up in front of her Kilaine only lost her left arm and had major burns on her body. This tipped her descent into sadism and she is now madly obsessed with bringing her sister back no matter the cost. Rude and offstandish, clinical.

Dragon age verse!

Thurwen- My main Hero of Ferelden with a bad temper and a heart of gold. City elf from the Denerim Alienage, 18 at the start of origins. She's a reaver warrior with a lot of pent up rage which sometimes scares others when she lets it out in battle. Over the years she's grown less moody as she's had to take the role of Commander. Crude sense of humor and violent impulses, very sensitive to the plights of others and tries often to help. Never seen crying in public but only cries to herself at night- major martyr and hanged man complex.

Caz- My circle mage elf inquisitor who was an apostate before the conclave. Blood magic, but make it sneaky. Wary of strangers and new faces, always dealing with the impulse to flee/find a high vantage point. Endless curiosity about the unknown/ the forbidden/ naughty, was supposed to be made tranquil for it but she escaped. Kind of a little creature as well, lived on her own for a while as an apostate in the woods, filed her teeth down to sharp ends to make herself look more intimidating (shes 5 ft tall) and less cute (her elf ears are huge and expressive, which shes embarrassed about)

Dag and Thagna- Carta twins! Professional lyrium smugglers since birth pretty much. Raised casteless in dust town and had to work their way up the chain of command by themselves. Dag is the brother, Thagna the sister. Their father traded them to the carta for drinking money and their mom died in childbirth so they have somewhat of a codependent relationship. Both charismatic and calculating, friendly and agreeable but won't hesitate to put a dagger in your back. Hard to pin down morally or physically, squirrelly bastards.

Reila: Dalish elf who works for the inquisition/ is the inquisitor in some aus. She has an extreme fixation on elvhen history and rebuilding what they have lost. Not a people person, prefers solitude. Takes some time to warm up to shemhlen as she has a hard history with them. Good friends with Caz, who recruited her in the first place. Doesn't understand very many social cues and finds societal expectations limiting and frustrating. Fondness for halla and hooved animals, which she finds graceful.

Elder scrolls verse!

Valkya: Near seven foot nord woman whos over a thousand years old by the events of skyrim. Tall and buff, two handed warrior and compulsive hero there to bask in the spotlight save the day. She was killed at the start of the events of Elder scrolls online and had her soul ripped out and sent to coldharbor and she's just been a pain in the ass about it since then. Her body can physically die and will not regrow pieces. Her soul however will escape and teleport to the nearest source of power where her body will regrow from an aetherial plasm until its whole again. Loud and brash, friendly and jovial. Actually pretty keen especially after centuries of life but prefers to play dumb as it makes people underestimate her. Plus, she really does enjoy mud wrestling and drinking contests and acting generally like a rambunctious frat boy. Ha developed a bit of a substance problem and a problem with acting out, as after being alive so long she would turn to anything to dull the ache inside of her that never goes away.

Espira- My Dragonborn! Redguard from Hammerfell who was briefly in the Ash’abah due to killing undead while protecting her parents water farm as a child. Ran away from them after years and went to Cyrodille, then to Skyrim and was caught crossing the border. Reserved, kind and soft spoken, she's a sword and shield warrior who's committed herself to doing good in the world by helping others. Dislikes killing and anything messy but believes it is often necessary in order to protect the weak. She blacksmiths often to save money on the upkeep of her own equipment, and takes up metal jewelry working as a hobby with the excess material. Prone to trusting others too much and giving too many second chances, as shes always looking for ways to make even the most hardened criminal a second look at life.

Riley- Espiras little brother who she locked in the wardrobe during the event of the water farm attack. In preventing him from doing violence against the undead she kept him from being conscripted into the Ash’abah. He's way more chaotic than his sister, and suffers from a case of little sibling syndrome in which he will often pester/poke at people just to get a rise out of them. Still kind hearted as his sister, he tries to hide it because he believes that the world is a cruel place and the cruel survive. Despite that belief he is often still unable to force himself to be cruel/careless, only making a show of it so that others leave him alone and don't see that he's very sensitive and emotional. Deaf in one ear due to a magic mishap in his youth, he trained and enchanted his most beloved rats to live for years and sit on his shoulder, alerting him to noises he would not otherwise notice.

Felria: Evil vamp :/ chaotic evil dunmer necromancer. Small and devilish and likes dead bodies too much. Manipulative and cunning, she loves acting. She's a trained assassin for the dark brotherhood and is the speaker. Likes dressing up for missions and wearing disguises like its all a play. Loves toying with people more than she loves killing them, will act in ways that cause as much trauma as possible for other people just for fun and she finds the reactions interesting. Considers herself too far removed from most people's perception of morality and of her so it's hard for her to trust someone or see them as worthy of knowing her. Finds the psychology of grief and fear to be interesting and wants to study them first hand. The hero of kvatch.

Herren: Fifty something year old rat woman looking for something to keep her going. Ran away from her wealthy family in her youth when they wanted her to take charge of the household, instead became an infamous jewel thief and swashbuckler. Spent most of her life traveling and stealing and double dealing. She's smarmy and sarcastic, a serial romancer of the highest caliber. Bit of a show off and a hedonist, always looking for the next good party or new product to snort. Her family died off due to the hard times she wasn't there for and she keeps looking for bigger and bigger heists to fill her appetite as she's chronically bored and lonely, though wont accept intimacy and will scoff at it out of the belief she doesn't deserve it. Irresponsible and selfish, lonely and terrified of any sort of commitment. Fun to party with though!

[nad-zeta]

I saw your post about the IkeSen lords and their NoMo MC and thought it was beautifully done! But it got me thinking... What if the lords' mc COULDN'T have kids, not necessarily that she didn't want them. How do you think Hideyoshi, Ieyasu and Masamune would react? Or even Sasuke, Yukimura and Shingen (or any three Lord combo you want... I'm curious about all all of them.)

Hi, hi, dear. ❤🌻🥰Thank you so much for the request love! 🦊Awww, thank you so much for the kind words, dear!❤❤❤❤😳 Hehe, so I didn’t add Sasuke and Yuki cause I was lazy, hope that is okay❤🌻🦋! Anyways so, this one really hit close to home!🙈😱 So I hope I did this justice! I hope you have a super good day and I hope you are keeping safe!  ❤❤🌻🦋

Headcanon: MC that can’t have children feat: Hideyoshi, Ieyasu, Masamune and Shingen 

Ieyasu

The two of you had been married for quite some time now

And naturally, you started trying for children to expand your little porcupine army ^̮^

It had been a few years of trying yet still nothing ≧☉_☉≦

Ieyasu had given both of you, various concoctions of herb mixes to aid in fertility and the two of you practically tried every wives tale in the book, from honey and cinnamon drinks to acupuncture

Yet still nothing (¬_¬)

You decided to go and speak to one of the midwives while Ieyasu was away to war

She did a quick evaluation and after some time she looked you in the eyes, sad look crossing her face ⚆ _ ⚆

She didn’t have to say anything for you to know that you couldn’t have children  ಥ ͜ʖಥ

You offered her a smile and thanked her for the evaluation 

However, the second she left you crumpled to the floor and cried

‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

Ieyasu came back early that night and was greeted by the sight of you curled up in a ball sobbing  ๐·°(৹˃̵﹏˂̵৹)°·๐

He was by your side in a matter of seconds picking your up and cradling you in his arms, as he moved you to sit in his lap

His heart broke as you refused to look him in the eyes 

All sorts of things had been going through your mind when the midwife left, like would he take up another wife at the news, would he leave you

Long fingers gently wiped away your tears and made their way to hook under your chin so that you were now looking at him ༼☯﹏☯༽

“Tell me what happened, did that stupid Mitsunari make you some horrible tea and force you to drink it.” (◕⍸ ◕✿)

You chuckled through the sobs as he tried to lighten the mood with a joke

His fingertips danced across your cheek as he lovingly caressed your face while wiping away every tear that fell  ( ‘́⌣’̀)/(˘̩̩ε˘̩ƪ)

Finally, through hiccuped sobs, you managed to get out what the midwife had told you

He couldn’t help but shed a tear of his own at how heartbroken you were at the news  (╥_╥)

He simply wrapped you in his arms and tucked your head so that it was now comfortably resting in the crook of his neck. He gently rubs small circles on your back as you spent the night crying in his arms 

He kissed your nose and your cheek, “It’s alright silly girl, there is more than one way to start a family. It’s not your fault so don’t stress about it.” He tried his best to reassure you knowing that you were beating yourself up  (｡◕‿◕｡)

He smiled kissing your forehead, “Besides we already do have a baby we are looking after, I’m pretty sure Mitsunari would die without our care, especially during times when Hideyoshi goes to war.”(｡◕‿◕｡)

At the end of the day, the two of you did have children, albeit not your biological children. 

You adopted two wonderful little boys who were sent to the Oda clan as hostages after their parents died. 

The second, you saw the look on Ieyasu face when he saw the two little scamps you knew that he wanted to rescue them so that they didn’t suffer the same fate he had as a child.

(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

Masamune

Masamune already knew you couldn’t have children

Or rather he suspected 

Every time the two of you would do the deed, you would always joke about, him not having to worry about you getting pregnant (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

He never thought much of it, shrugging it off thinking you had some fancy futuristic contraception

The two of you never really sat down and had a conversation about it 

Although the more serious Masamune Date got about you, the more you dreaded having to have that convo with the man ಠ╭╮��

After all, he was the leader of his clan and as wife to the future leader certain duties and expectations had to be met

Well not that you were at that point yet, or so you thought

Unbeknown to you Masamune had gone behind your back and consulted with your enemy ninja fiend and his fellow warlords to plan the perfect evening to propose to you (✿◠‿◠)

Masamune knew you were the perfect woman for him, and tbh after having met you, you were the only woman he could ever look at

You taught him how to love and healed him from all his traumas and for that, he will be eternally grateful (◕‿◕✿)

He knew you were never one for grand gestures so he decided to keep it small, besides this way the proposal would genuinely be a surprise

He cooked the two of you dinner like any other night 

After dinner, you made your way outside together to sit and have a nightcap under the stars 

That's when he pulled out a ring and proposed ( ° ᴗ°)~ð (/❛o❛\)

You were so happy you could cry, yet the tears you shed weren’t from happiness  ಥʖ̯ಥ

“Masamune I have to tell you something?” you said in a rather serious tone

He froze up thinking you were going to tell him you didn’t love him, that his feelings had been one-sided, he swallowed the lump in his throat as he spoke, “What is it kitten, don’t tell me you’re afraid of commitment”

You shook your head tears still falling, “Remember all those jokes I made about not having to worry about getting pregnant, well those weren’t jokes, I really can’t.”  （>﹏<）

Everything seemed to move in slow motion, as he was faced with a decision between happiness and duty 

He made up his mind and looked you square in the eyes, “And the problem is what exactly kitten, I love you and you love me right, so say yes” he gave you the broadest smile (˶◕‿◕˶✿)

You couldn’t help but jump into his arms in a tight embrace showering his face in small kisses

In truth, you had received a proposal once before, years ago yet, that man was not able to accept you as you were. Looking back you were thankful he had rejected you, as it had led you onto the path of true love and happiness 

Masamune did eventually get a son and a successor, as the two of you had come across a poor orphaned boy barely surviving on the streets and decided to take him in and raise him as your own. | (• ◡•)| (❍ᴥ❍ʋ)

Shingen

You and Shingen had been married for quite some time now

He was still busy recovering from his lung disease and it was time for the two of you to go back to the future with Sasuke to get him checked out and restock up on meds

 (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧

The two of you, would go back to the future every five years or so just to check up on his lungs, to make sure everything was still good (¬‿¬)

While Shingen was at the doctors, you decided to go to your gynaecologist to check up on your lady bits (¬‿¬)(¬‿¬)

Usually, the two of you would chill in the future for a few months until the next wormhole opened up, which suited you perfectly as it gave you an opportunity to catch up with your family (◕‿◕✿)

One day while you and Shingen were chilling on the couch the gyno called and asked you to come in so she could discuss your results

Shingen looked over at you, “Is everything alright, my goddess.” (◕‸ ◕✿)

You wore a concerned expression as you put down the phone, “I’m not sure, she asked me to come and see her as soon as possible.” (◕__◕✿)

The next day you and Shingen were sitting in the consultation room as the gynaecologist broke the news to you, that you had cervical cancer

Shingen grabbed your shaking hands and squeezed it. 

As the doctor explained your options, Shingen helped keep you calm by rubbing soothing circle on the back of your hand (〃‿〃✿)

The two of you decided to start the treatment immediately as that was the best way to ensure that both of you would be in tip top shape to return to the past

To be honest when the doctor broke the news that after the procedure, you would never be able to have biological children of your own, your heart broke  ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

You and Shingen had finally decided to try for children and now that dream seemed to be coming to a crashing end  (つ﹏⊂)

Shingen was there for you every step of the way, just as you were for him when he was sick and in the hospital (づ￣ ³￣)づ

The two of you went through the list of options in terms of children, and being in the future, there were quite a few options 

The two of you finally settled on adoption and quickly approached an agency to fast track it before you had to return back home ~(˘▾˘~)

The two of you landed up adopting four children at once. 

They had been in the system for so long, as they came as a package deal. Neither of them wanting to be separated from the others 

Shingen smiled as the social worker warned him about the 13-year-old’s tendency to run away.┗(＾0＾)┓

The two of you returned back to the past with your four children. You had gone from an empty nest to a full house in less than a year

You were slightly worried about the children having to adapt to a new life in the past, but those worries were for nothing as they were absolutely thriving ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪

Even the angsty 13-year old that was rumoured to have run away from his last 10 homes loved every bit of the past

He especially had taken a liking to Yukimura who would train with him

Finally, the four children who had never known love their whole entire lives were now surrounded by it from all sides

Hideyoshi

Oh you had loved your doting husband to bits ( ͡ᵔ ͜ʖ ͡ᵔ )

He was everything you could have ever asked for in a potential partner, kind, loving, caring, need I go on \ (•◡•) /

Hideyoshi had found out very early on that you were unable to have children

In fact, you had actually confided in him way back when he had still sister zoned you ◉_◉

He never judged you for it and honestly never cared whether you could have children or not, all he knew was that he loved you ♥‿♥

He often jokes that the two of you couldn’t possibly raise a child as you already had your hands full with the warlords (｡◕‿‿◕｡)

If the two of you weren’t controlling Nobunaga’s candy binges, you were caring for Mitsunari, heck the two of you even had to break up small fights between bickering warlords

Although all that changed one day when there was a knock on your door in the middle of the night (；一_一)

Naturally, you kicked Hideyoshi out of bed to investigate, as you were to comfortable in the warm cocoon of your bed (｡v_v｡)

Hideyoshi kissed the top of your head as he got up to investigate. 

As he approached the door, he wondered who dare would wake them up so late into the evening ¬_¬

He was already cursing under his breath thinking he might find an injured Mitsuhide on his doorstep in need of medical assistance.

He opened the door and peered into the darkness, no one was there. He frowned thinking it might have been some children pulling a prank ب_ب

Just as he was closing the door, he heard a small sneeze, he looked down to the find out the source of the sound was a baby, that couldn’t have even been more than a few hours old ≧☉_☉≦

He gently picked up the tiny thing and cradled it in his arm. 

He could feel his blood boiling as he felt how cold the little baby’s hand were

(╯=▃=)╯︵┻━┻

He rushed to get a soft blanket to wrap the poor child in and then made his way to your shared room where he relit the fireplace ლ(･ω･*ლ)

At this point, you were sitting up in your futon wondering if Mitsuhide had gotten himself injured again (��＾；)

Before you could even get up, your eyes widened in shock as you spotted the little bundled in Hideyoshi’s arms as he lit the fireplace ʘ‿ʘ

The second he handed the child to you, you were in love, in fact, both of you were in love  ♡｡ﾟ.(*♡´‿` 人´‿` ♡*)ﾟ♡ °・

You raised the little girl as your own, the two of you could never track down her biological parents, not that you cared as you loved her to bits and would never be able to give her up  (◍•ᴗ•◍)♡ ✧*。

I hope you enjoyed this love🦋🌻! And I hope you are keeping safe and well.❤❤🥰🌻

[slstmaraudersjple]

Collateral Damage

Via Lottie (klarolineagainnaturally):

Random thought: I would have loved an in depth talk between Klaus and Caroline in which she talked about him biting her both times and then she went into all the trauma she had suffered from all the other shit people put her through and he would be just absolutely horrified and angry that someone would do those things to her but also horrified and angry at himself. TVD really just did not give two fucks about exploring the trauma in its female characters and it shows

A/N: I know, I know. I’ve got some prompt requests I’m still working through. But Lottie (@klarolineagainnaturally) wrote the above post and it WOULD NOT leave my head until I sat down and wrote it out. So here you go, darling! I hope you enjoy this! AU canon-divergent from TVD episode 4x13 Into the Wild, after Klaus bites Caroline. I’ve adapted the dialogue because I didn’t feel like going back to re-watch the scene.

Trigger warning(s): mentions and discussions of rape and torture.

Collateral Damage

“If you don’t heal me, I’m going to die.” Her voice is oddly calm despite the panic coursing through her veins.

He looks at her, regret briefly flickering through his eyes, and then he shrugs, turning away from her as he murmurs, “Then Tyler will have learned a lesson.”

Angry tears form at the corners of her eyes, hot and wet and heavy.

“Then you’re just like the rest of them,” she says bitterly, mimicking his tone. But she’s unable to help the emotion seeping into her voice as she lashes out, “You say you’re different, but in the end you’re all the same. None of you give a damn about me as long as you get what you want. None of you give a shit about who hurts me or what happens to me as long as you have your precious Elena.”

Then, she turns away from him, curling up on the couch.

“I’m not going to beg you for anything. But you’re going to get to watch me die, and I hope you’re happy with yourself.”

XXXXX

True to her word, she stays silent, and he’s left to ponder over her words. The accusation in her voice, the hurt that she can’t quite hide, and the implications of her words.

“You’re just like the rest of them.”

He thinks over everything he knows about the baby vampire that’s caught his interest. Truth be told, he didn’t do much research on her prior to coming to Mystic Falls. All he knew was that she was a baby vampire, a friend of the doppelganger, and dating the Lockwood boy. He doesn’t know what happened to her prior to her becoming a vampire.

“None of you give a damn about me as long as you get what you want.”

He is starting to believe that this was a slight error on his part. Klaus knows that many think of him as a monster of legends, but there are lines that even he draws. The wheels start to turn in his head as he thinks about the people she associates with. The doppelganger, the Bennett witch, the Lockwood boy, and… the Salvatore brothers.

“None of you give a shit about who hurts me or what happens to me.”

He pauses on the last. She seems rather friendly with all of them… save for Damon Salvatore. Even if it’s never been said, he has noticed Caroline’s silent disdain towards the older Salvatore.

Not to mention, the falling out she’s had with Tyler.

And then there’s the relationship (or rather, lack of) with her often-absent mother.

His conclusions lead him to believe that not just one terrible thing has happened to this baby vampire, but several. And they make him furious.

And after pondering on these possibilities, each scenario he envisions worse than the next, he finally pulls himself out of his thoughts and turns his attention back to the object of his affections.

“Just what,” he finally responds after a couple hours, “did you mean by that, sweetheart?”

She’s quiet in response, unmoving.

For a moment, he thinks that she’s going to continue to give him the cold shoulder.

But finally, she says, her voice so low that only his hybrid hearing picked it up, “Why do you care?” She sounds tired and weary, and he can’t quite help the wave of guilt that crashes into him.

He’s seen his fair share of victims. Normally, he’s fine leaving them up to their fate. Survival of the fittest and all. But there’s something so utterly vulnerable about Caroline Forbes in this moment.

And then she says, “I’m so tired of it all.”

Like she’s giving up.

It’s such a stark contrast to the feisty, intelligent, clever, beautiful baby vampire he’s come to known. And that, Klaus thinks, is unacceptable.

He meant every single word he said to her – she’s beautiful, intelligent, full of light. But obviously she’s experienced something terrible if she’s not scared of him the way others normally are.

And if he’s going to get some answers, he can’t have her dying on him, now can he?

His mind made up, he strides forward, unaware of his own eyes flashing amber as he forcefully turns her over to face him. Caroline is far too pale for his liking, unresponsive to his touch. Without hesitation, he rips his fangs into his wrist, making sure his blood is running before pressing it to her lips.

He doesn’t let go until she’s drinking, and as he watches the color return to her cheeks, the thought occurs to him that she’s the only one he’s saved. And not just once, but twice.

Klaus would not consider himself a patient man, but he still gives the baby vampire a moment of grace to recollect herself before he sits back, letting the full weight of his gaze fall on her.

“Now,” he says, his voice booking no room for argument, “let’s chat, shall we?”

XXXXX

Caroline frowns. “Why do you care?”

“Humor me.” He says.

It’s the wrong response, because she shakes her head, scoffing as she turns away from him.

“I could compel you,” he says carefully, watching her face for her response.

And just as he suspects, she flinches, seeming to curl into herself as she presses against the couch. “Don’t you dare,” she snarls, not quite able to hide her growing fear.

“I won’t have to if you tell me,” he responds.

Caroline eyes him suspiciously, looking towards him but directly meeting his gaze. Clever girl, he thinks fondly.

But he braces himself, trying to keep the expression on his face calm as he prepares for he response.

The baby vampire seems to contemplate his words for a moment, deciding what to do.

She’s quiet for so long that Klaus begins to wonder if she’s going to clam up and refuse to speak to him for the next couple days.

But then she tells him.

Everything.

About Damon.

About the werewolves. Both times.

About her dad.

She refuses to look at him as she does so, instead burying her face into her knees as she wraps her arms around her legs, drawing them up. Her words are hollow, almost mechanical, as if she’s dissociating herself while she summarizes each event. And even though she leaves out some details, Klaus can very easily fill in the blanks for himself while soaking in her words.

She doesn’t see the growing horror on his face, the way his eyes widen, the way his throat turns dry.

Caroline has been tortured not once, but four times. Once while she was human. Three when she was a new vampire. And she’s only been a vampire for a couple years.

She doesn’t see the growing fury, the way his eyes flash golden, the way the veins on his face blacken.

Her so-called friends all knew about the compulsion and rape she suffered at Damon’s hands. And they didn’t care. Her so-called boyfriend knew about the torture she suffered at the hands of the werewolves, and he allowed it to happen. And being tortured by her own father for being a vampire…

She doesn’t see the tears that spring to the corners of his eyes as he watches her fall apart in front of him.

But what she does see, when she finally stops talking and dares to look up, is him. Sitting in front of her, on his knees, his hands carefully braced on either side of her, close but not touching.

He swallows and finally says, “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve suffered, sweetheart.”

The expression that crosses her face is equal parts confusion and equal parts suspicious. “But why?” Her voice is a little hoarse after talking for over an hour, her eyes red-rimmed, her face wet with tears both shed and unshed.

And in that moment, Klaus can’t help but think she’s the most beautiful being he’s ever met in his entire life. And that he’ll never meet another person like her in a million lifetimes.

“Because you didn’t deserve any of it.” His response is simple, honest, and unrestrained.

“Why?” There’s growing bewilderment in her voice now.

He pauses, thinking over his response before he decides to go with, “Is it really so hard to believe that for all my… faults, that there are some lines that even I don’t cross?”

Caroline stares at him for a long moment, and Klaus fidgets uncomfortably under the weight of her gaze. It feels like she’s looking into his soul and judging him, and he’s not quite sure how to feel about it. Finally, she says, “I think I believe you. But… why do you care? I’m nobody special or important. I’m just… a baby vampire. Shit happens.” Her words are slightly bitter, as if she’s repeating something she’s been told.

Klaus swallows, partially wanting to laugh at the absurdity of her words, of the reality of how she sees herself. He wants to shake the gods, because this baby vampire who has upturned his world cannot see herself the way he sees her.

He settles for shaking his head as he says, “You’re wrong. I once told you, you’re beautiful, strong, full of light. I fancy you. That hasn’t changed. You’re so strong after everything you’ve been through.”

Caroline looks at him, really looks at him this time. There’s an odd look on her face, and she says quietly, “I want to believe you. But I’m tired of being collateral damage, Klaus. When shit happens, I always get hurt. And no one ever cares to pick up the pieces. They expect me to just get over it and move on. And one day, things are going to get real bad, and I’ll probably die.”

An uncomfortable feeling overcomes him at her words, a strange clawing sensation in his chest, and before he can stop himself, he snarls, “I would never let that happen.”

She shakes her head, a sad smile on her lips as she says, “Don’t make promises you don’t intend to keep, Klaus. You might feel it in this moment, but I’m not going to hold you to it.”

This time, Klaus shakes his head in response as he says, “I can’t go back and change the things that you’ve endured, Caroline. But I can do everything in my power to make sure it doesn’t happen again. Tyler might be your first love... but I intend to be your last.”

When Caroline opens her mouth to respond, he vows, “However long it takes.”

And he means it.

He doesn’t expect a response from her anytime soon, but by the contemplative expression that overcomes her…

He thinks that he just might have a chance.

Caroline’s quiet afterwards, eventually falling into a light slumber after the emotionally drainng ordeal she’s had, and he’s content to enjoy the silence while he plots.

The first thing he’s going to do when the Bennett witch’s spell fades is to hunt down and kill Silas.

Then, it looks like he’ll be having a chat with the rest of the Mystic Falls gang, starting with the werewolf boy and the older Salvatore.

And finally... he intends to continue the conversations started with his baby vampire. It’s clear to him that Caroline has suffered from the trauma she’s endured, and he’s going to show her that she can lean on him. She’s obviously mistrustful of him, for good reasons, but she has shown that she’s been willing to trust him on occasion.

It’s a start, and he will make the most of it.

(Starting with apologizing for the two times he’s bitten her.)

Caroline Forbes entered his life and turned it upside down, and if there’s anything Klaus is good at, it’s playing the long game.

And he plays for keeps.

XXXXX

FIN.